


In Perfect Light

by ADreamingSongbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Astronomical Witch Student Yuuri Katsuki, Celestial Being Viktor Nikiforov, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, loosely based on celestial mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-24 01:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13800588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: The people of the stars live in a vale deep, deep in the mountains, content to keep to themselves and let the rest of the world wonder if they truly still exist. Cities grow, the soft light of the sun rises and falls, and through it all, the night sky circles overhead. Distant, silent, eternal. Full of secrets of fate that liewritten in the stars.(In a small town, a young boy is trying to pursue his dreams of studying the witchcraft of the constellations when a fallen star in human form finds him.)





	1. nebulae

**Author's Note:**

> _"Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."_

_“You are made of starlight, my dear, and when you look up to the night sky, know that you see your kin. I will always be with you.”_

.

.

.

Viktor Nikiforov is fifteen years old when his mother dies.

He is old enough, unlike his little six-year-old cousin, to understand that even though the stars cannot fall sick and pass away, their mortal kindred can. Their clan, a small village of celestial people living together in their own quiet harmony, is comprised of humans who carry the blood of a star, a star who long ago gave up her immortality and her place in the skies for a mortal lover.

When a star dies, it goes out with a bang. It expands, grows red and flares bright, or if it’s big enough, bright enough, hot enough, it explodes into a supernova, painting its last gasp huge across the glittering, dark canvas of the sky. It would only make sense if the people of the stars would, too.

Viktor Nikiforov is fifteen years old when he finally realizes that they don’t.

His mother passes away, frail and sick, in her sleep one night. He makes her tea in the evening, holds the cup to her trembling lips and helps her up when she is too weak to lift her head, and in the morning, she is gone.

He will never understand the star who gave up an immortal family for a lover who would die on her, one day or another. Whatever fleeting happiness she gained, it must have paled in comparison to this horribly mundane, extraordinarily grievous pain.

The sky is clear, soft and deep purple as always, the day they hold her funeral. The sun’s eternal twilight shines down as he returns to his too-empty house, holding a new, heavy jar of ash in both hands.

(That’s a lie. It isn’t heavy. It isn’t heavy at all.)

“We’re home, Mama,” he whispers, setting the jar on the windowsill in his bedroom. They used to sit in that window seat when he was small, reading together or watching the night sky until he fell asleep, curled into her lap, knowing that Mama would always be there to hold him and protect him. What a naïve fool he was.

He curls into his empty sheets instead, clutching a pillow as tightly as he can. In the morning, he has to pack, has to leave this house and move in with his grandfather and his little cousin, little Yura who doesn’t really know why his aunt isn’t going to come visit again.

 _She’s gone to live with the stars,_ their grandfather explained, holding Yura in his arms. _We’ll see her again one day, but not for a while, little one._

With the stars.

Viktor still remembers seeing her light up with happiness when he drew their family portrait, remembers the warm glow emanating from her skin and her hands when she picked him up to kiss his cheeks the first time he wrote her a note that said _I love you,_ remembers the way he ran to her, shrieking with delight when his own light shone from within.

The children of the stars shine, too, but only when happy.

Viktor is never going to glow again. He knows it.

“You always did have such beautiful hair,” Mama used to tell him, combing it for him before bedtime. She would braid it, her fingers gentle and practiced as they deftly wove it into a thick plait down his back. “My beautiful little boy.”

He would laugh, waiting impatiently for her to finish so he could leapfrog behind her and try to braid hers, too. He didn’t manage it as quickly or as neatly, at first, but she was patient with him, always nurturing, always guiding.

He hasn’t needed his mother to braid his hair before bed in ages. And yet, tonight, he desperately wishes she would.

In the morning, he gets up in his too-still, too-empty house, wishes the ashes in the windowsill a good morning, and quietly makes breakfast. He tries to sing to fill the silence, but his voice catches in his throat, and nothing comes out, and eventually he pads back to his bedroom to bring the canister to the table to sit with him. It’s a little less lonely if he pretends she’s still with him, even just a little bit.

“Vitya,” Dedushka says, in the evening, when the unpacking is as finished as it’ll get today and little Yura is asleep and dreaming. He puts a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, draws him into a gentle hug, and pats his back, and Viktor, face smushed into his sweater, smells the bread he baked earlier. “It’s going to be okay, child.”

“Stop lying,” Viktor mutters, so empty his chest hurts.

“I’m not lying.” Dedushka pats his head. “Get some sleep. It’ll be a little better in the morning.”

Viktor braids his own hair that night, and the night after, and the night after that, until the days blend into nights and the nights blend into days and his birthday passes with little fanfare past sweets from his grandfather and a clumsily-written card from Yura. His mother lived in this house for a while, and he can see her ghost in the living room, laughing at his uncle’s jokes from the couch. Sometimes he almost thinks if he tries hard enough, he can hear the echo of her voice in the kitchen, making up new recipes and experimenting with herbs, or singing Yura to sleep for his afternoon nap.

 _I cannot live like this,_ he thinks, staring at his pale and sad eyes in the mirror. Yura glows bright and happy when he plays with new toys, but every time he sees Viktor, sad and wan as he always is, he dims. Yura deserves better.

Yura deserves better, and Viktor cannot live like this.

He goes to the desk in the corner of his room and begins to write, the seed of a foolhardy and stupid idea already planted and growing in his mind. He waits until nightfall, eats dinner and hugs his grandfather and tells him he loves him, and retires to his room, then leaves his letter on the pillow, takes his bag, and steels himself.

Viktor Nikiforov is sixteen years old when he runs away from the only home he has ever known. He does not look back.

* * *

The celestial clan lives in a small village, nestled in a secluded valley deep in the mountains. It takes a decent chunk of the money Viktor had left after his mother’s death just to get to Astelle, the nearest city outside the mountains; he and his people are known for seclusion and secrecy, and he soon invests in a dark cloak to cover his hair, uncomfortable with all the stares.

The problem with running away from one’s problems, he soon discovers, is that there’s no particular place to run _to,_ and he doesn’t know where he’s going. Astelle is still too close to the demons he’s fleeing, and he knows he’s not the only celestial there, so he keeps running. He wants to get far, far away, somewhere where Dedushka won’t look for him, because he’s sure Dedushka will worry and want to bring him home.

But he can’t go back. He was an extra strain on Dedushka, he made Yura sad with his own sorrow, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Mama. For all of their sakes, it’s better this way.

He flits from city to city, from Astelle to Sitaaron to Toile to Chandani, never staying in one place very long. It’s not smart, and he knows he needs to settle down and find work of some sort before he completely runs out of money, but nothing seems _right._ The technicolor loudness of the big cities never sits well with him, though he supposes that maybe he could enjoy himself if he threw himself into the party scene and never looked back.

But he’s on his mother’s money, not his own. It isn’t what she would want, and that means it isn’t something he can do.

On an impulse, he takes a train without looking at the map, rides it all the way to the last stop, and wanders out into the town he finds himself in. It’s small, sleepy, and sits on the gentle slopes above the sea, and he smiles as he looks around. It’s charming.

It’s also getting to be late in the evening, and the soft white light of the sun is sinking down toward the purple horizon, close to the softly-murmuring sea, and above, beyond the clouds rolling in, the stars are starting to twinkle. He looks up for a long moment.

 _Mama,_ he thinks, _if you’re up there, I hope you’re not disappointed. I know I haven’t done much to make you proud, but… I’m sorry._

There are signs posted here and there. He follows them to a hotel just as it starts to rain, drawing the hood of his cloak further over his face and hunching his shoulders against the wind. It isn’t that cold, but the stiff breeze at night blows right through him, and he shivers.

When he gets inside, he’s immediately assailed by warmth, merry laughter, and the scent of good food. Oh, god, does that smell good—he hasn’t eaten in a few hours, and his stomach is very keen to remind him of that.

Peering around, he takes note of the cost of a room for the night and then spots the menu for the restaurant. He has to be frugal to make his money last, but an appetizer at least couldn’t hurt, and these prices seem fair! And it smells really, _really_ good…

He tries on a smile, makes sure he can whip it out without feeling too fake, and makes his way over to the counter. There’s a woman there, around his mother’s age or so, and a man who must be her husband. She greets him with a bright smile.

“Hello! Welcome to Yu-topia Akatsuki!” she says, pushing her glasses up. “What can I do for you?” And then she pauses, frowning slightly as she peers around. “Are you travelling alone?”

Viktor pastes on his smile, as charming as he can be. “Oh, yes, it’s just me! May I have a room for tonight, please? And, um, should I place an order for food here, or…?”

There’s clear concern in her face now, but she nods. “Yes, here! What would you like?”

Embarrassingly, his stomach rumbles. Viktor flushes pink and hopes she didn’t notice as he says, “Oh, um, just a side portion of rice would be good, thank you.”

The woman exchanges glances with her husband for a moment. “Are you sure that’s all?” she asks, brow furrowed. “If you are hungry, we have more food!”

Oh, this is awkward.

“Mom,” the young woman clearing plates away from one of the tables calls, “you can’t force-feed everyone who walks in here!”

The husband laughs jovially, and Viktor, relieved, laughs too. They can just joke it off. “No, really, I’m fine with just the rice,” he says, shaking his head. “I couldn’t pay you for more than that, anyway, so…”

The husband and wife exchange glances again.

“Alright, dear,” she finally says, and nods. “Would you like to dine here, or in your room?”

Viktor glances out over the relatively crowded front room, thinks about the boring solitude of a room all to himself, and makes sure he smiles again as he answers. “Here is fine, please!” he chirps, and places his money on the counter.

The woman doesn’t take it.

“Um,” Viktor says, and tries to push it over, a little more obviously. “Here you go.”

“I won’t take your money, dear,” she laughs, shaking her head, and turns around to take a key from the shelf behind her. “Here. Yours is room number two-sixteen, okay? Feel free to wait down here if you like! My son is about your age, I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet a new face.”

Flabbergasted, it’s all Viktor can do to blink as she presses the key and his coins back into his hands, smiles warmly, and walks away. Her husband laughs again at the look on his face and says, “Don’t worry about it, son! It’s on the house tonight.”

“Oh,” Viktor manages, taking the key and pocketing his coins again. “Thanks.”

He makes his way upstairs, finds his room, and tries to make sense of what just happened. Are they just taking pity on him because he’s young and alone? He hates the idea of being indebted to them just because they think he can’t pull his own weight—he’d feel so bad if he just took advantage of their goodwill! Maybe he can help out in the kitchen or something later. He used to cook with Mama, and if that’s no use he can do dishes, at the very least.

After he sets his bag down, he rakes a comb through his hair and ties it back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, sighs, and puts his cloak back on before he heads downstairs. It’s still damp, but the alternative is having everyone stare at him, and he’s definitely too tired to deal with that.

There’s a small table in the back corner, and he takes a seat facing the room, letting the sounds of merriment wash over him. People are laughing, joking, and reclining at the tables around him, sitting on folded knees and enjoying their meals or drinks. There’s a large screen with a some sport broadcast playing on the far side of the room, and many people are rooting for one team or the other. All in all, it’s a boisterous, well-loved room, full of a close community.

Immediately, he feels out of place. He should have stayed in the big cities. At least there, strangers are normal.

His ruminations are interrupted by the approach of a boy who, from one look, is clearly the innkeepers’ son. He’s carrying a tray with two steaming bowls, a small teapot and two cups, and a pitcher of water and small glasses. Whatever is in the bowls, it smells _amazing,_ and Viktor’s mouth waters.

“Um, hi,” the boy says, setting the tray against his hip and placing the teapot on the table. “My mom said this is for you,” and he puts every single thing from the tray down in front of Viktor, who stares, dumbstruck.

“I, uh, ordered rice,” he says lamely, and the boy laughs, ducking his head.

“My mom likes to feed people,” he says, a shy smile blooming on his face. “Don’t worry. We won’t charge you for it.”

Viktor stares at the meat curry and rice bowl in front of him, trying to be courteous enough not to inhale it in front of the boy but also really, _really_ wanting to pour the entire thing down his throat right now, at this very moment, in one go. God, it smells _amazing._ “Um. Thank her for me,” he manages, tearing his eyes up from it. “But, um… why two…?”

The boy puts his tray to the side and plops down across from Viktor, adjusting his glasses, and admits, pink-cheeked, “My dad thought you looked lonely. So he suggested I could sit with you. If you want.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, his heart fluttering in his chest. That’s so kind of them he doesn’t know where to start! “I…”

“If you would rather be alone, that’s fine!” the boy says immediately, starting to get back up, and Viktor shakes his head quickly, frantic.

“No, no, please! I don’t mind—though, um, if you’d rather go, I understand, but thank you either way—”

“I don’t mind,” the boy says quickly, and then laughs a little. He has a nice smile. Kind of shy, but sweet and genuine. “It gets me out of having to do the dishes.”

“I can help with the dishes,” Viktor blurts out, his guilt from earlier coming back. “I feel bad taking all of this for free, and your parents wouldn’t let me pay. Oh—actually, could I just pay you? For the meal at least? And—”

The boy is stubbornly shaking his head already. “No! It’s a gift! If you really want to argue about it, you can talk to my mom after dinner. But you have to eat first.”

“Oh, trust me,” Viktor says, looking at the steaming bowl again, “ _that_ won’t be a problem.”

Around an hour later, Viktor has inhaled two bowlfuls of rice (“Katsudon,” the boy, who is named Yuuri and is fourteen years old, explains. “It’s my favorite, and mom made it because today’s my birthday.”), several cups of tea, some ice cream, and a bit of birthday candy that Yuuri offers to share with him. The young woman he saw earlier, who turns out to be Yuuri’s older sister Mari, ruffles Yuuri’s hair before she takes their dishes back to the kitchen, and Viktor just sits and talks and laughs with Yuuri as the moon rises into the night.

Suddenly, he realizes that the customers have all but vanished, trickling out of the inn to their homes or upstairs to their rooms. The front room is deserted, save for him and Yuuri, and the kitchen lights.

“Am I in the way?” he asks, suddenly self-conscious. “Please at least let me help clean up…”

Yuuri fidgets with the hem of his left sleeve. “I think my mom would want me to tell you to go and rest instead, but…”

Well, Viktor can be stubborn, too. He might not have a rag to wipe things down with, but he can carry leftover plates back to the kitchen.

“Wait!” Yuuri yips, running after him to try and take them from him. “Viktor, you don’t have to—”

When he steps into the kitchen, it’s to a sight of awe. The dishes are doing _themselves,_ sudsy water scrubbing away at several plates as Mari conducts it all with her fingers, standing over them, while Yuuri’s father, Toshiya, blows a magical wind across the clean dishes to dry them before he puts them away.

“Oh! Thank you very much, dear,” Hiroko says, taking the stack from Viktor, while Yuuri continues to fret and wring his wrists behind him. “Yuuri, is that everything?”

“Yes,” Yuuri confirms, bobbing his head, and belatedly Viktor moves aside to make room for him.

So this is a family of witches. They’re very kind, and Viktor files _they use magic_ away just as easily as he filed away _they’re unerringly hospitable_ earlier. Yuuri really doesn’t want to do dishes even when he’s doing it with magic?

“Good,” Hiroko says, and smiles at him. “These two have cleanup under control. Why don’t we all sit down for some tea and chat a bit?”

Viktor blinks. “You mean me?”

“Yes, dearie,” Hiroko laughs, waving her hand, and Viktor and Yuuri follow her as she leads them to a small sitting room, gesturing at some cozy-looking cushions. “Sit down, sit down, be comfortable! You don’t need to keep that cloak on, you know.”

Viktor immediately tenses. “Ah—I’m a little more comfortable with it, thank you.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” she says, “but we won’t judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He sits, and does not remove his cloak. “What, um… what do you want to chat about?”

Worry comes across her face again, and Yuuri looks between the two of them anxiously. “You’re just so _young_ to be travelling alone,” she says, clasping her hands together, “and if you were worried about affording both a bed and a meal… I don’t mean to pry, Viktor, but are you alright?”

Viktor hesitates, and somehow, that’s all she needs.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” she adds, gentle and _motherly,_ and that’s too much.

Viktor breaks.

“I don’t know where I’m going. M-my mother is dead,” he chokes out, trying to dash at his eyes without making it obvious that he’s trying not to cry, and Hiroko moves forward immediately, pulling him into a hug that leaves him frozen in shock. Nobody has held him since he fled his grandfather’s home, and it’s been months.

“There, there,” she soothes, patting his back. “Little one, just let it out. It’s okay to cry.” She smells like jasmine, maybe, and something a little earthier that he can’t place, and a few more spices from all the cooking. It’s a smell that so clearly must be the smell of _home,_ especially to someone like Yuuri, and the thought of his own mother’s arms around him like this makes Viktor choke and sob harder.

He misses her so much. He misses having a home, he misses not being alone, he misses—he misses Dedushka and Yura, he—he—

“Yuuri,” Hiroko murmurs, rubbing Viktor’s back some more, “be a dear and go bring some tea, please.”

Yuuri scrambles to his feet and all but runs out of the room, and Viktor cries into the shoulder of this stranger, the first one to show him kindness like this since he left home.

Later, much later, he realizes that his hood fell down when he collapsed into her arms, and she said nothing about his hair, even though it’s clear that he’s not fully human now. In fact, Yuuri, Mari, and Toshiya didn’t say anything either, and they’ve been sitting here listening to him cry and spill out his life story for _hours._

These people are so kind. Maybe he can pay them and stay a second night. God, he doesn’t want to leave in the morning, not yet.

“Viktor,” Toshiya says gently, at one point. “Do you want to go back to your grandfather?”

“N-no,” he stammers out, almost immediately. “I—I can’t. It would—it would hurt too much. I… I really can’t.”

“That’s alright,” Hiroko tells him. She pats his shoulder, and he sips at the pomegranate green tea that Yuuri brought, nodding. “Do you have any place to go?”

He shakes his head wordlessly.

“Alright,” she says, and exchanges glances with her husband again. They seem to understand each other so clearly, just through silent interactions like that. Viktor wishes he had that kind of intimacy with someone, but of course that’s stupid. He’s sixteen and on his own because he’s too sad to handle anything else. “That’s settled, then. You can stay here, as long as you need.”

His head jerks up. “What? No, no, I can’t just mooch, I, um—I left my wallet upstairs, let me at least pay for everything I can, I…”

Mari, seated next to Yuuri and using him as an armrest, laughs. “You’re not winning this one, kiddo.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, and bows his head. He lifts it a second later when the silver of his hair crosses his vision, and hiding behind it a little, he peeps at the four of them. “You… don’t mind? Really?”

“We wouldn’t offer if we minded,” Toshiya says kindly. “Besides, none of us would feel right turning you out to fend for yourself, not when we could help. If you want to stay, stay. As long as you like.”

“Oh,” Viktor says, again, and his eyes begin to water. Vaguely, he realizes his hands are glowing, but he’s so overwhelmed with gratitude that he can’t even think about that for more than half a heartbeat. “Thank you so much. Thank you, I—I just—thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” Hiroko says, and pulls him into a hug again. “You’re always welcome.”

* * *

It takes two and a half months for Yuuri to bring up the celestial question. Viktor can tell he’s been curious, sometimes glancing at his hair with shy inquisitiveness, but he never asks, always too courteous to say anything. After some of the people he met on his travels, Viktor appreciates this greatly.

Eventually though, they’re sitting together in Yuuri’s room. Viktor lies on the bed, looking at all the starcharts Yuuri has taped to the walls and ceiling, and Yuuri lies next to him, his voice soft.

“Vitya? Can I ask you something?”

Viktor blinks, rolls over to face him, and nods. “Sure, what’s up?”

Yuuri blinks back at him. His glasses are smushed against his cheek, and it has to be uncomfortable, but he’s lying very carefully on one arm as if he’s prepared for it. “Are you really descended from a star?”

Viktor pauses.

“I… think so,” he says after a moment, idly picking up a lock of his own hair and rubbing it between his fingers and thumb. It’s lustrous and soft, just like it always is, and it reminds him of his mother. He still misses her, but he thinks she would be happy, knowing he’s found a place where he can be himself, where _he’s_ happy. “That’s what everyone always told us, anyway. There’s this one star cluster—”

“The Six Sisters,” Yuuri says, nodding. “I’ve read about them.”

“Right.” Viktor gives him a little smile. “Except my people call them the Seven Sisters. They say one of the sisters came down to the planet and married a mortal, a long time ago, and we are all her descendants. So we all have the blood of the stars.”

Yuuri ponders that for a moment. Then he grins, and his whole face lights up (figuratively, of course). “That’s really cool.”

Viktor laughs. “You think so?”

Yuuri nods. “I really like the stars,” he says. “I mean—you knew that, right? Sorry, I’m dumb sometimes. I mean—I just, um. You know I really want to be a starwriter, so I just, um… I like learning about lore?”

“I know. I bet you’ll be the best starwriter the world has ever seen,” Viktor tells him, looking at all his starcharts again. Yuuri is a studious boy, serious and dedicated. Viktor likes him a lot, finds it really easy to just sit in silence with him, and likes to listen to him get excited about his research. “I don’t think it was a stupid question.”

Yuuri gives him a tiny smile again. “Thanks.”

He lifts his arm and flicks a finger, and the lights turn off, leaving them in darkness. Viktor waits for a moment, content to sit there patiently as the bed creaks and Yuuri shifts, sitting up properly and sucking in a breath. It takes him a moment, but then…

Oh, the magic begins.

The starcharts glow faintly, pinpricks of dull light marking their surfaces, and Yuuri beckons them forward. The tiny points of light zoom out from the maps, coming to dance in front of Yuuri’s hands, and he slowly gathers more and more of them, lighting the room up again as he goes, until he has a swirling mass of little specks of brightness all around him.

He takes first one, and then the next, and then his fingers fly in complicated patterns that Viktor doesn’t quite follow, and slowly but surely, a galaxy begins to form in his hands as the scattered pinpricks are arranged into a slowly-spinning spiral that throws out white rainbows all around the room.

It’s beautiful.

Yuuri’s still learning starwriting, but he’s already talented enough to make little galaxies out of light just like this, bringing light and beauty to the room they sit in. He holds his tiny spiral galaxy for a few moments longer, and Viktor admires the way its light plays off his dark hair, his soft sweater, and his shining glasses.

Then he looks up, beaming. “Hold out your hands?”

Viktor sits up and holds out his hands, cupped and waiting, and catches his breath when he realizes Yuuri’s galaxy isn’t the only source of light in the room.

His hands are glowing with a pale, gentle light, and when he looks down his sleeves and then pulls his hair over his shoulder, he realizes it’s all glowing, too, and his eyes widen. He doesn’t think he’s been this bright in… since before Mama died. He shone the night the Katsukis took him in, but this is brighter than that, brighter by far.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, a little more insistently, and he pulls himself back to reality with wide eyes, cupping his hands again.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs. “I just didn’t realize I was, um. Shining.”

“Oh.” Yuuri laughs as he gently places his galaxy in Viktor’s hands, and Viktor’s heart swells. It feels warm as it turns, like a tiny bird, or a little fire. “You do that a lot.”

This is news, and he jerks his head up with surprise. “I do?”

Yuuri nods. “Yeah. You didn’t notice?”

Viktor shakes his head, looking back down into the mesmerizing swirl. There are so many little stars in here, each one made of pure magic and pulled from Yuuri’s own power, channeled through the starcharts. It’s incredible, what he does. No wonder it makes him shine. “I had no idea.”

“Silly,” Yuuri laughs again. Then he cocks his head to the side, curious again. “What does it mean? When you glow?”

Viktor presses his lips together, then offers him a tiny smile. “It means… It means I’m happy.”

 _“Oh,”_ Yuuri breathes. He looks at Viktor for a long moment, looks back down at the galaxy swirling in Viktor’s glowing hands, and then sighs happily, tucking his legs under himself and looking very pleased. “Then I hope you’re always glowing.”

He leans over and very shyly kisses Viktor’s cheek, and both of them must notice when Viktor’s light flares brighter with his shock. “Oh!”

Yuuri ducks his head, burying his face in his hands and then peeping out through his fingers. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “It’s what my mom would have done after saying that, I think… I don’t know what I’m doing, ignore me…”

Viktor laughs, balances the galaxy in one hand, and uses the other arm to reach over and pull Yuuri into a quick embrace. “That’s okay. I liked it.”

Yuuri relaxes immediately, then bobs his head quickly as he realizes, “Oh, right, you glowed more. That would mean… oh, okay. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Viktor feels his cheeks warm again, and he runs his hand through his hair, a little frazzled. Yuuri looks at him, smiling again, and then settles back against the pillows to look at the tiny stars still floating around the room. It’s peaceful and quiet, and Viktor considers them and the little galaxy for several seconds before he finally breaks their companionable silence again.

“Hey, Yuuri,” he says, and waits for Yuuri to look at him before he continues. “Do you think you could braid my hair for me tonight?”

Yuuri squeaks. “I, um, I don’t know if I could do it very neatly…”

“I can teach you,” Viktor says, and maybe his desperation bleeds into his voice, or maybe Yuuri just likes the idea of braiding his hair for him half as much as Viktor likes the idea of someone else braiding his hair, because instead of protesting further, Yuuri just blinks and then nods.

“Okay,” he says, and smiles.


	2. stars

_“Ordinary? Hardly. You are made of poetry, written in moonlight. Take my hand, dear; together, we could outshine the sun itself.”_

.

.

.

_Seven years later…_

.

.

.

Yuuri’s hands are still shaking, he realizes, clutching the envelope, emblazoned with the seal of Celestino’s Observatory. The letter inside is far too precious to risk dripping his tears on it, so he carefully puts it down on his desk and sniffles, wiping at his face. Is this real? This can’t be happening.

Someone knocks—bangs, rather—on his locked door, jiggling the doorknob. Well, it’s not _someone,_ because his mother, his father, and his sister would never do that, so it has to be his best friend, but—

“Yuuri!” Viktor wheedles from the other side. “Open up, let me in! It’s okay, it’s just one letter, and there’s always next year, come on! Let’s just watch a movie, eat some ice cream, and not worry about it, okay?”

Yuuri sniffles again, opens the envelope, and stares at the letter, shaking his head. He can’t believe it. He seriously, actually cannot believe this is happening.

“Yuuri!” Viktor calls again. “Yuuri, please?”

_Dear Katsuki Yuuri,_

_Congratulations!_

_You have been admitted to Celestino Cialdini’s apprenticeship in starwriting! Our admissions process was exceedingly difficult this year, as we received many applications from many talented aspiring witches, but of all of them, yours shone among the brightest. You and your fellow apprentice, should you choose to accept this invitation, will begin work on the first day of Spica. Lodgings will be available in downtown Chandani, but you are not required to live in the offered housing._

The rest of the letter dissolves into further errata about the logistics of the apprenticeship, all of which registers as white static in Yuuri’s overwhelmed, ecstatic mind. He got in.

_He got in._

Sorcerer Cialdini is one of the most, if not _the_ most renowned starwriters in the _world._ Training under him has been Yuuri’s dream for years, ever since he first picked up a book on the magic of fate and reading what lies written in the stars. He’s been enchanted all his life, and just thinking that he, a silly little dime-a-dozen boy from a small town in the middle of nowhere, managed to land an apprenticeship under _Sorcerer Cialdini…_

“Holy shit,” he whispers, putting the letter down again, almost reverent. His hands are trembling, but he can’t stop the incredulous grin spreading across his face as it starts to sink in that this is real, this is really a thing that is seriously happening to him, and then he lets out a watery, ecstatic shout of laughter and jumps up and down.

“Yuuri?” Viktor pounds on the door again. “Yuuri, don’t make me pick this lock, because so help me, I _will_ —”

Yuuri yanks it open and doesn’t skip a beat, throwing himself into Viktor’s arms with a joyous cry. “I did it!”

Viktor goes from concern to shock to elation in the space of a heartbeat, and then he scoops Yuuri off the ground and twirls him around and around and around, glowing so bright it’s almost hard to look at him. “You did it!? I _told_ you you’d get in, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

“I did it!” Yuuri crows, clutching at his shoulders and laughing and laughing. “I got in, Vitya, oh my god, I got in!”

At this point, his family poke their heads around the corner, where they have clearly been pretending to be doing something other than waiting for him to let them know what the letter said. As soon as Mari called out that there was a letter for him from Sorcerer Cialdini, he grabbd it and bolted.

Now, still wrapped in Viktor’s bright arms and messy hair and the glow of his exhilaration, he turns to face them, positively beaming.

“You got accepted?” Mari asks, already smiling, because she knows he wouldn’t be laughing like this if he was rejected.

He grins anyway and nods several times, so fast he almost smacks his head on Viktor’s chin, and Viktor ruffles his hair and laughs. “I did! I did, I did, I did!”

“Yuuri!” Both his parents rush forward and hug him, and Viktor lets go to make more room for them before he gets tugged right back into what quickly becomes a big mess of a group hug, right there in the hallway. “Oh,” his mother says, wiping her eyes, “I’m so, so proud of you, sweetheart, we have to celebrate—”

“I’m on it,” his father announces, before Yuuri can protest, and the next thing he knows, he’s being marched down the stairs to the front room of the inn, where everyone gathered for dinner looks up expectantly.

Oh, no. Yuuri looks around the room a little nervously. They must have heard all the screaming.

“Everyone!” Toshiya announces, waving an arm as he wraps the other around Yuuri’s shoulders and pulls him forward. “Yuuri got his apprenticeship with Cialdini!”

Immediately, the room erupts in applause. Someone is yelling, many other people are whistling and cheering, and soon Yuuri finds himself caught up in a whirlwind of congratulations and well-wishes that leaves him feeling warm and full and more than a little dizzy. It goes on for ages; after he’s been tossed around like a shuttlecock between just about every single person in the room, he finds himself in the spotlight, sitting in the middle of everyone and talking about the letter and what it said and what he’s planning to do in Chandani and everything else under the sun.

Eventually, though he’s still over the moon and utterly thrilled about his acceptance, he starts to get a little overwhelmed by all the attention. Luckily, Viktor is right at his side and knows just how to read him.

“Okay, okay,” he says, more or less hauling Yuuri up right. “This has been fun, but I’m kidnapping him for movies and ice cream to celebrate! Good night everyone, see you tomorrow!”

“I get no say in this?” Yuuri asks, wrinkling his nose, and Viktor just laughs merrily.

“None at all!”

He takes Yuuri by the hand and leads him back upstairs, where they hole up in Yuuri’s room and shut the door against the noise. Immediately, Yuuri lets out a sigh of relief, which doesn’t last long because the letter is sitting _right there,_ right on his desk, and he has to run and grab it and shove it in Viktor’s face.

“Look!” He practically dances from foot to foot, excited again. “Look, look, look! I’m going to be Sorcerer Cialdini’s apprentice!”

Viktor takes the paper, reads it carefully while Yuuri bounces in front of him, and then finally puts it down. He smiles, not the bright and jubilant grin from earlier, but instead a slow and sweet one as he wraps his arms around Yuuri and tugs him close. “I always knew you could do it. I am so, _so_ proud of you, Yuuri. You’re going to be _amazing._ ”

“Vitya,” Yuuri mumbles into his shoulder, feeling cherished and very, very happy. “Thank you,” and then he starts to laugh, standing there and clinging to his best friend. God, he loves Viktor. “I can’t believe this is real, oh my god, I really thought it was a one in a million chance…”

Viktor laughs, squeezes him tight, and steps back, plopping onto Yuuri’s bed. “Nope! He’s lucky to have you and he knows it.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Yuuri giggles, gleeful, as he yanks him back upright to dance him around the room. “I’m so _excited!_ Vitya, Vitya Vitya Vitya, I got in, I seriously did—oh!”

Viktor scoops him up, throws him over his shoulder, and marches him back to the bed, throwing him down playfully and draping himself across him. “You did! But what part of _movie night_ didn’t you get? Sit down!”

Yuuri attempts to wriggle out from under him, just to be contrary, and Viktor grabs his wrists to pin him. What follows is several minutes of tussling and laughter, finally resolved when Viktor _cheats_ and starts _tickling him,_ and Yuuri finds himself pinned under the weight of Viktor’s body, both of them breathing hard. Viktor’s luminous hair has completely come out of its messy ponytail, falling all around their faces, and his eyes are so very impossibly blue.

This…

This is where Yuuri has a problem.

See, it’s one thing getting a new best friend as a fourteen-year-old, when a sad, waifish boy mourning his mother shows up and just kind of… stays. It’s easy, kind of, until one stops being an airheaded, shy little kid and gets close to the new addition to the household and realizes that he’s really, _really_ easy to love, and then everything else gets a lot harder. And then as a twenty-year-old young man, just trying to get his life in order and figure out how to be an adult, he finally realized that this little issue was here to stay, and he hasn’t really known what to do with himself since.

Yuuri has a real and serious problem, and it’s this:

He is completely, utterly, and irrevocably in love with his best friend (and sometimes, it _hurts)._

“Well,” he finally wheezes, giving Viktor a shove. It would be so easy for Viktor to lean down and kiss him right now, but of course he doesn’t, because he doesn’t feel that way about Yuuri, and Yuuri’s just accepted that a long time ago. “You win. Now get _off,_ god, Vitya, did you eat a bag of bricks for dinner or what?”

Viktor laughs, cheery and bright, and infuriatingly plants a loud, smacking kiss to Yuuri’s forehead before he rolls aside. He can’t just _do_ that… but he’s lived in the Katsuki household for a while, and Yuuri’s mother is very open with her affection, so of course he’s picked up the habit. Knowing that doesn’t make this any easier for Yuuri.

“You’re the worst,” he tells him, sitting up and wiping at his forehead. Viktor just winks.

“I think you mean the _best,_ ” he says, tossing his hair, and Yuuri attempts to swallow a snort. “So, we’re celebrating you! What should we watch?”

“Something _happy,_ ” Yuuri decides, excitement surging through his body like bubbles in a glass of soda, and throws himself into Viktor’s arms again.

Several episodes of the stupidest show they could find online later, Yuuri props himself up on his elbow in the dimness, admiring the way his little swirling stars shine on Viktor’s hair. Viktor looks up at him with a tiny, open smile, curious but not pushing, and Yuuri determinedly does not think about kissing that smile. Cuddling is good. It’s good enough. He loves Viktor too much to want to risk ruining their friendship.

If he’s moving to Chandani in three months, though…

It’ll be him, all alone, in a new city. He’s going to miss his family. He’s going to miss _Viktor._

“What’s on your mind?” Viktor asks, poking his side, and he yips.

“Don’t you dare start that up again,” he warns, grabbing the offending hand. Viktor nods placatingly and waits, and Yuuri sighs. “I was just thinking how… I don’t know. When I move out and stuff. I’ll miss this, you know? I’ll miss… I’ll miss you a lot.”

Viktor purses his lips in thought, his smile fading away. “Ah.”

Now it’s Yuuri’s turn to frown at him. “What’s on _your_ mind?”

Viktor shrugs slightly, sighs, and finally admits, “I hadn’t actually… thought about that.”

Yuuri blinks. “Oh.”

He sounds sad, but the kind of sad where he’s pretending not to be sad because he wants to spare Yuuri’s feelings. He does this more often than Yuuri would like, withdrawing into himself and pasting on fake smiles; the only saving grace about it is that Yuuri can see through them, every single time.

Viktor laughs, brittle and dry, and shakes his head. “It’s alright, though. I’ll miss you, too, but you’re so amazing, Yuuri, you absolutely deserve this. I’m really happy for you.”

Yuuri pokes him in the side this time, still frowning. “There’s a ‘but’ there.”

Viktor shakes his head. “It’s stupid and I won’t say it. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”

Wordlessly, Yuuri pauses the show and gives him an expectant look.

Viktor groans a loud complaint and pulls a pillow over his face. “Why must you be so _obstinate?”_

“I’ve got all night,” Yuuri says, pulling the pillow away. Viktor peers up at him, his hair fanned out all over the pillow, and blinks innocently. He’s somewhere between beautiful and adorable, and it’s very unfair, but Yuuri is stubborn and refuses to let himself be distracted. “What’s bothering you, Vitya? Stop hedging, you _know_ I can see you trying to avoid the question.”

“I’m that predictable, am I,” Viktor murmurs, and Yuuri just narrows his eyes down at him.

“Answer the question, you goof.”

Viktor sighs again, turning his head to look away into the darkness illuminated by Yuuri’s stars. He’s not glowing, not even faintly, and without really thinking about it, Yuuri reaches for his hand and squeezes it comfortingly.

Viktor squeezes back. “I’m proud of you,” he finally says, “and I _am_ really, really happy for you, I swear. And I really don’t want to turn this into something about me, or make you feel like you shouldn’t go, but…”

“But?” Yuuri urges gently.

“But,” Viktor hesitates, his voice tiny, “I’ll be sad when you leave me behind.”

The breath leaves Yuuri’s lungs with a _whoosh._ “Oh, Vitya,” he murmurs, hugging him tightly, “I would never, ever leave you behind. I’ll write to you, and we can call often, and I’ll always be available if you need me or if you just want to chat, whatever it might be, and…”

“You say that,” Viktor mumbles, burying his face in Yuuri’s shoulder, “but you’ll find starwriter friends and you won’t really need me anymore.”

Yuuri hugs him even more fiercely, shaking his head. “No, no way. There’s no way anyone would _ever_ replace you, silly, I’ll always need you! You’re my best friend! That won’t change just because I’ll be a few hours away. God, I wish I could just take you with me…”

The faintest shadow of an idea glimmers into his mind, and he pauses.

“…Hey, Vitya?”

Viktor huffs a soft noise of acknowledgment into his shoulder, and Yuuri pats his head.

“Would you want to move to Chandani with me?”

Viktor is so startled he sits up, dislodging himself from Yuuri, who reaches up to tuck aside the lock of silver hair that falls across his face. “What?”

“I don’t _have_ to live in the lodging the apprenticeship provides,” Yuuri explains. The hair falls forward again, and he has to push it back more firmly. “We could get a place together, you and me, and live in the city?”

Viktor hesitates. “We’d need income to pull that off, you know…”

Yuuri beams. “So you’re considering the idea?”

Viktor hesitates again, then nods, very slowly. “If… if you want it, and it’s not just your way of trying to work around my… whatever this is. If you want it, then yes, I’m very open to considering it.”

Yuuri gives him a sardonic look. “Do I, the anxiety-ridden recluse, want to live with my best friend instead of complete strangers? What a difficult question to answer. Sorry, it might take a team of even the most skilled starwriters a few days of scouring the charts to see if fate itself has any idea on this one, it’s—”

“Okay, okay!” Viktor laughs, hugs him close, and smushes his cheek against his hair. “You’re right, you’re right. Okay. We can figure this out. Maybe I can just find work there. We could open a restaurant! If I can learn to cook half as well as your mother, that is.”

Yuuri laughs, delighted, and squeezes back. “She’d be happy to teach you, and we have all summer long, so you know…”

“That’s certainly something we could consider,” Viktor hums. He seems thoughtful now, just contemplative and uncertain rather than sad, and Yuuri figures that that means they can get back to their cheesy cartoon.

A few minutes pass in companionable silence as they watch, passing the occasional comment back and forth, snuggled up together. As the evening wears on into the night, Viktor starts to nod off, just as he always does; eventually, Yuuri puts the laptop aside and shakes his head, fond and amused.

“Of course you’re taking up all the pillows,” he mutters, waving a hand to send most of the tiny lights swirling into darkness. He burrows cozily down into the blankets, leans over, and kisses Viktor’s cheek. “Good night, silly.”

And maybe Viktor isn’t as asleep as he thought he was, because he glows softly and sighs, a flicker of a smile crossing his face. Yuuri shakes his head, curls up next to him, and lets himself sink down into sleep.

* * *

There are some people who feel like soft rain against the glass, blurring the lights of the outside world into a comfortable haze. People who feel like cool greys and warm hugs, like the soothing scent of gentle jasmine or light vanilla, like the stillness of an undisturbed lotus pond, like the reflection of the stars on a windless night.

Phichit Chulanont is none of these things.

“Hi! You must be Yuuri! Ciao-Ciao told me you’d be arriving today, but not staying in the apartments here, so I waited to meet you! This is so exciting!” he gushes, pumping Yuuri’s hand up and down at about ten thousand miles an hour. It’s all Yuuri can do to keep himself from being swept away by his whirlwind personality. “My name is Phichit, it’s really nice to meet you! Wait, you totally already knew my name, didn’t you? My bad!”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” Yuuri manages, adjusting his glasses and blinking owlishly. “It’s nice to meet you, too?”

Phichit fires off a grin so bright and dazzling that Yuuri blinks again, a little intimidated by how well this boy seems to take to meeting a stranger, and finally lets go of his hand and leads him into his living quarters.

“I’m glad I managed to catch you before we officially start work,” he says, gesturing at a chair. “I thought it’d be cool to like, get to know each other and stuff? Because we’ll be spending a lot of time in the observatory, anyway, and I thought, hey! Why not hang out before we have to stay up all night?”

He seems content with talking a mile a minute, so Yuuri just laughs a little awkwardly and nods. “Yes.”

“Cool!” Phichit flashes him two thumbs up. “Want some tea, by the way? I have jasmine green on hand, or plain black. Oh, and I bought cookies from that shop around the corner! They’re pretty good. You already talked to Ciao-Ciao, right?”

That is many statements all at once. “Um, jasmine is fine,” Yuuri says, counting them off on his fingers. “I haven’t seen the corner store yet, but I’ll remember it when I get groceries. Who is Ciao-Ciao?”

Phichit laughs, holding a small flame in his palm under his kettle. “Oh, that’s just what I call Sorcerer Cialdini! He’s cool with it. He’s a super-chill guy, honestly. So you haven’t met him?”

“No, no, I have!” Yuuri blushes, ducking his head. He’s so _bad_ at conversations and meeting new people—honestly, this would be going so much better if Viktor was with him, but Viktor is at their new home-sweet-home, or somewhere nearby, at least, doing their first set of groceries. “I didn’t recognize the name, I’m sorry. I met with him just now, before you caught me, actually. We talked about research projects.”

Phichit nods, excited. “We did too! In the sample I sent in for the application, I wrote a segment on practical applications for Vega’s theoretical fatecrafting calculations, and he seemed pretty into that and said that maybe we might work on something with fatecraft in the observatory, as our first project. Did he talk about that to you, too, or are you going to be on a different assignment?”

Yuuri balks. Practical applications for Vega’s theoretical fatecraft equations… and this boy is just _starting_ his apprenticeship. Oh, god, he is so outclassed, just an idiot country bumpkin who got in on pity, maybe, and Sorcerer Cialdini is going to realize he made a mistake accepting him on the very first day of their actual work and then he’ll kick him out and send him back to Hasetsu in shame.

“He, ah, he did bring that up, yes,” he manages after a second’s pause, swallowing hard. “My project was less impressive, I think,” and he laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just tracked the movements of the Maia cluster as it related to the classic starwritten principles of local weather patterns and observed fortune for five years in my hometown. But practical applications of Vega’s equations sound like a really interesting, if broad, field for us to research!”

Phichit puts the kettle down very slowly, his eyes wide. “You tracked observed fortune of an entire town for five whole years?”

Yuuri ducks his head, cheeks flushing. “My hometown is very small, so it wasn’t really as difficult as it sounds.”

Phichit whistles, nonetheless. “Still, my dude, that’s impressive as hell. Man, I’m intimidated!”

He pours hot water over a teabag and passes a mug to Yuuri, who accepts it with a quiet “Thanks,” and blows on it awkwardly to pass the seconds that tick by, slow as molasses.

Finally, Phichit grins and sticks out his hand for another handshake. Yuuri takes it, a little wary because of how close his arm came to being yanked out of his socket the first time, and Phichit shakes it firmly again. “I look forward to working with you, Yuuri. This is gonna be great!”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says, blushing red. He’s an idiot, and somehow he’s just fooled this legitimately brilliant young man into thinking he’s smart. This is going to go terribly, he can already tell. “I look forward to working with you, as well.”

“Sweet,” Phichit drawls. Then he brightens (is he always this chipper and exuberant?) and hops up, tea in hand. “Say, Yuuri. I have a really, really important question for you, before I can commit to this friendship.”

Here it comes, Yuuri thinks, heart sinking a bit even as he cocks his head to the side inquisitively. _Are you as stupid as you look?_ or maybe _Is cluster tracking seriously the only thing you’re capable of?_

Phichit looks him dead in the eye, face serious and a little concerned, maybe, but mostly stoic and intent. He’s going to rip Yuuri apart in one sentence, Yuuri is sure of it.

“Do you like hamsters?”

Yuuri chokes on his tea and coughs a little violently. “Wh-what?”

“I said,” Phichit repeats, “Do you. Like hamsters.”

Flabbergasted, Yuuri wipes the spilled tea from his mouth and then rubs the fog from his glasses, putting them back on with slightly fumbling fingers. “I—I guess? They’re cute, uh, and really tiny and fuzzy? Sorry, was that the wrong thing—if you don’t want me to talk about hamsters I won’t—”

“Oh, thank god,” Phichit sighs, the epitome of relief beyond measure. Then he beams again, grabs Yuuri’s wrist, and gives him a tug. “Come on, come on! I have some very important fuzzballs for you to meet.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, a little dazed, and follows him.

It’s just starting to rain when he heads home, a light grey mist drizzling down from the deepening evening sky. As he turns the corner onto his street, big, fat drops start to pitter-patter down to the sidewalk, and he has to cast a quick spell, tracing an arc over his head and making the water deflect to his sides. By the time he heads through the back of the not-yet-opened café and upstairs to their apartment, it’s pouring.

“I’m home,” he calls, toeing out of his shoes at the door, but there is no answer. Viktor must still be out getting groceries. Hopefully he isn’t caught in this deluge.

While he waits, he changes into some soft flannel pajamas and curls up on the couch with a blanket, scrolling idly through his phone. His fingers itch for something to do, but they unpacked just about everything last night before eating some takeout and crashing into bed, and there’s no food to make dinner with yet.

God… he really made an idiot of himself in front of Phichit, didn’t he? What was he _thinking,_ volunteering information about his stupid little project? He still doesn’t know how in the world Sorcerer Cialdini found some stupid cluster-tracking impressive enough to consider him for an apprenticeship, but Phichit is probably thinking _great, I’ll be saddled with an incompetent dumbass for a research partner for the next four years._

He’s so _stupid_ , honestly, who asked? Phichit didn’t ask for him to start babbling about the Maia cluster. Who cares about the Maia cluster! Compared to something as useful as exploring practical applications of the Vega equations, his work is so juvenile and dumb—ugh!

Yeah, Cialdini is probably going to look at him on Monday, size him up next to Phichit, and say, _Yuuri, sorry about the confusion, but you weren’t actually the student I wanted. Go home, kid, and maybe one day you can be a decent starwriter in your little town. Run along now, this is the big leagues!_

Great.

Great. Awesome. Wow.

Alone without much to distract him from this train of thought, it really comes as no wonder that by the time the door softly beep-boops to let him know Viktor is home, he’s curled up and trembling, on the verge of tears. At the sound, he sits up, blanket pulled up over his head, and tries to make his shaky legs move to get up so he can help with the groceries, but they really, really don’t want to uncurl.

“I’m home!” Viktor sings, hauling several bulky bags in. He’s soaked and smiling, though his arms must be exhausted from carrying everything, and at the sight of him—the one familiar face in this entire sea of strange places and stranger people—Yuuri almost bursts into tears. “Hi, Yuuri! How was it?”

Yuuri forces himself to get off the couch and go be useful, taking some of the bags from Viktor with his shaking hands and putting things haphazardly into empty cabinets. “It was fine. You—you should go get a hot shower, you’re probably freezing…”

Viktor laughs. “I’m alright! It wasn’t that cold.”

Yuuri gives him a disbelieving look but says nothing. Celestial Vale, where he grew up, is high in the mountains and nestled into snow most of the year, apparently, so Viktor’s tolerance for the cold is much, much higher than Yuuri’s far more reasonable one. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Viktor teases. He comes forward and smushes his nose, his _cold as ice_ nose, into Yuuri’s cheek, and then has the gall to laugh when Yuuri whines and pushes him away. “So cold, Yuuri!”

“Yeah, you are.” Yuuri pulls his blanket up around himself again, crossing his arms and pouting, while Viktor removes his sopping cloak and hangs it up by the hearth, where a warm witchfire blazes merrily. Yuuri likes witchfire because it doesn’t make smoke, and that means his home doesn’t have to constantly smell like smoke to be warm.

Viktor sticks out his tongue, very maturely, and flits down the hall to his room, stripping out of his clothes on the way. Yuuri puts more groceries in more cabinets, makes sure the dairy and eggs and meat are all spelled to stay cold, and puts on some tea, while he’s at it. Viktor will probably appreciate tea, if he’s been out in the cold rain, whether he calls it cold or not.

He’s standing in front of the stove, teapot slowly heating as he leans into the warmth, when sudden ice slips up his shirt and plants itself on his stomach.

“ _Vitya!”_ he shrieks, smacking those cold, clammy hands away as Viktor laughs uproariously, stumbling back and leaning against the wall to keep himself upright. “Oh my god, you are the actual worst, I hate you _so much_ right now!”

“Aww, Yuuuuuri,” Viktor giggles. “You just make the funniest noises when you get startled—oof!”

Yuuri huffs at him, smacks him lightly in the shoulder again for good measure, and goes back to huddling over the stove. He’s cold all over again, and Viktor is an asshole. A lovable one, to be sure, but still an asshole.

And he went and got all these groceries… that they probably won’t even _need,_ because in two days Yuuri is going to go in to the observatory and Cialdini will tell him he sucks and that he should go home because the idea of him being able to compete or compare with any of the people here is absurd and laughable, and then they’ll all laugh at him too, because he’s an idiot and he’s unnecessary and he dared to think he might fit in here, because he’s _stupid._

Arms encircle him again, but this time they stay over the blanket, and Viktor hugs him close and rests his chin on his shoulder. This is a proper hug, not a “time-to-make-Yuuri-scream” hug, and Yuuri sighs as he leans back into it.

“You okay?” Viktor asks, his voice gentle and sincere. “Sorry. Did I tease at a bad time?”

Yuuri lets out a suspicious sniffle as the anxiety and tears from a few minutes ago come back in full force. “No.”

Viktor hums, thoughtful. “Hmmm. No, it’s not a bad time, or no, you’re not okay?”

Yuuri turns around in his arms and buries his face in his shoulder very quietly, and says nothing.

“Okay.” Viktor holds him a little tighter, sways them back and forth in the warmth of the stove, and leans his cheek against his hair. “Do you want to talk about it? Was it Cialdini? Did he say something?”

Yuuri shakes his head miserably.

“Was it someone else?” Viktor gives him an encouraging little squeeze. “Because I can and I will fight anyone who was mean to you, if they said something. Give me a name and I’ll beat them up.”

That gets a hollow laugh. “Me. Beat me up, please?”

“Hm!” Viktor prods him in the back. “Alright. You got it.”

“Wha—oh!”

Viktor bodily picks him up, carries him the short few steps to the couch as he wriggles around in complaint, and then plops down, pulls Yuuri to sit curled up between his legs, and squeezes him tight, tight, tight. “Now then! How dare you be mean to my best, most wonderful, darling friend in the whole world?”

Yuuri squirms. “I…”

“Because I’ll have you know,” Viktor continues, “that he is a delight, he’s absolutely brilliant, he’s dedicated and hardworking, and he absolutely in no way deserves any of the cruel things you always say about him!”

Yuuri ducks his head. “Vitya…”

Viktor sniffs. “It’s the truth.” He softens, kisses the top of Yuuri’s head so sweetly that Yuuri feels he could burst, and then asks more gently, “What’s wrong?”

Being held should _not_ make him feel better so instantly, and yet somehow, here he is. Why is Viktor so good for him?

“I’m… not good enough to be here,” he admits, finally swallowing his shame enough to be able to say it out loud. “I met the other apprentice today, Phichit, remember? And he mentioned his application project and—god, Vitya, he was working on practical applications for the Vega equations, like, on a widespread and common scale! And all I did was track a cluster. I felt so _stupid._ I’m outclassed. There’s no way I’m good enough for this place. They’re probably gonna just laugh at me and then kick me out of the observatory.”

“Okay, well, _that’s_ not true,” Viktor says, as if it should be obvious, but it’s _not_ obvious. “If they weren’t impressed by your cluster, they wouldn’t have admitted you in the first place. You worked on that for five years, Yuuri. You deserve to be here just as much as he does.”

Yuuri sniffles again. “Promise you won’t hate me if I do get kicked out because I’m stupid though?”

Viktor huffs out a soft laugh and lays his cheek against his hair. “Oh, Yuuri. I could never hate you. I promise, if that makes you feel better, but I know they won’t anyway.”

Yuuri bites his lip and lets out a deep sigh, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “Okay. I hope… I hope you’re right.”

Viktor nods. “I am. Listen, everybody makes stupid mistakes every now and then—hell, I probably made a huge one today!—but I can make you a second promise: You being accepted to be Cialdini’s apprenticeship was _not_ a mistake. You’re worth this, Yuuri. You’re more than good enough.”

Yuuri frowns and shifts in his arms. “What did you do today?”

“Of course that’s what you respond to.” Viktor lets out a theatrical sigh. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you if it ever becomes relevant. In the meantime, focus on the rest of what I said, will you?”

Yuuri finally lets himself smile, tucking his face into Viktor’s neck and trying his utmost to relax properly against his chest. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” Viktor pats his shoulder. “That’s all I can ask of you.”


	3. galaxies

_“There are all the stars in all the systems in the sky, and yet I would rather be with you.”_

.

.

.

The lights are low, and the air pulses with every beat of the music. Color shines from little pinpricks—magical stars, like the ones Yuuri twines into clusters or galaxies or beautiful patterns under his beautiful fingers—scattered around the room and the dance floor, full of mingling bodies all moving as one.

Viktor steps aside to lean against a table, catching his breath and raking his hair back with one hand. Laughter bubbles up in his chest as Chris nudges him, grinning.

He has to strain to be heard above the music, and Viktor leans in to hear better. “I told you this would be fun!”

“Hey, you barely had to do any convincing for me!” He grins back, notices that his arms are glowing, and tries to tone it down a bit. He doesn’t want to turn into some kind of beacon in the middle of the club!

“Oh, I’m sure you’re having a great time,” Chris purrs, sipping his cocktail with a devious grin. “Enjoying the view, am I right?”

Viktor’s face heats at least ten degrees, but he nods, immediately looking out over the floor. Yuuri is out there somewhere, dancing with Phichit, who Viktor still doesn’t know too well but has met several times, and also, as of tonight, to whom Viktor owes his entire life. Phichit was the one who took Yuuri out shopping a few weeks back and persuaded him to buy the dress he’s wearing tonight, and Phichit also is the one who convinced (well, bribed) Yuuri to wear it out in public.

Just the thought has Viktor swallowing, hard. _God,_ Yuuri looks so good in that thing it should be _illegal._

“Honestly, I don’t blame you one bit.” Chris winks. “If I wasn’t already in the know on how hopelessly gone you are for him—though frankly, dear, a single look at your face when anyone _mentions_ him, and it’s very apparent—I’d be trying to tap that, myself.”

Viktor drapes himself across the other barstool and groans theatrically. “God, Chris, why is he so _beautiful?_ I’ve lived with him for, god, how long now, eight years? And he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, even though I’ve also seen him drool in his sleep. God. Just—just look at him. I don’t understand!”

“There’s no helping you,” Chris says, not very sympathetic. “You’re in love, you poor fool.”

“And he loves me, but not like this,” Viktor sighs. He’ll be happy to stay Yuuri’s best friend all his life, but it _will_ hurt, whenever Yuuri inevitably falls for someone else. He deserves the entire world, and whoever ends up loving him had better give it to him, or they’ll have hell to pay. “I just… Phichit is devious, do you know that? He’s the reason Yuuri is wearing that thing tonight. And with that lipstick. I am so gay, Chris, I don’t know what to do with myself, honestly, fuck me…”

Chris actually cackles, which lets Viktor know he’s successfully set himself up. “Tell Yuuri to do that, why don’t you?”

He groans and lets his head _thunk_ against the table. “You suck.”

“I bet you would, too, if Yuuri asked,” Chris says glibly. Viktor kicks him under the table.

They order another round of cocktails for the group and sit back down at their table, holding down the fort until Yuuri and Phichit come back. Viktor knocks back a shot while he’s at it, follows it with some juice as it burns down his throat, and rolls up his sleeves against the dense heat of all the bodies packed into the club.

He’s settled back into one of the tall chairs, feet swinging, when Yuuri and Phichit stumble off the dance floor, and his breath catches in his throat all over again at the sight of them—specifically, at the sight of Yuuri. His hair, carefully slicked back before they left the house, is a bit mussed, a few strands falling down around his face, and his red lipstick is a little faded, a touch smudged at the corner of his mouth, probably from snacking earlier. He’s breathtaking, beautiful, gorgeous—a work of art in the flesh.

And that dress still hugs his body in all the right places, the huge pattern of cut-outs over his chest and sides doing absolutely nothing to help the knot of attraction fluttering in Viktor’s stomach. He’s flushed from exertion and alcohol, and he’s laughing, his eyes shining bright as he scampers forward.

“Vitya!”

Without waiting for a response, Yuuri careens forward and smushes himself into Viktor’s arms, giggling. Viktor catches him and steadies him with a surprised laugh, his hands skimming over the warmth of the skin bared around his hips. “Whoa, hey, you!”

“Hiii,” Yuuri beams, leaning in against him again. “Oooh, you’re warm,” he sighs, wrapping Viktor’s arms around himself. “And so, _so_ pretty. You’re really pretty, Vitya, did you know that?”

Viktor laughs again, a pleasant buzz settling throughout his limbs as the alcohol works its magic. “You’re also really pretty, did you know _that?”_

Yuuri wiggles in his arms, petulant. “You’re prettier.”

“ _You’re_ prettier.”

“You,” Yuuri insists.

Viktor shakes his head. “No, you.”

“You!”

“You!”

_“You!”_

“Children, children,” Phichit interrupts, looking extremely amused. “We’re all pretty, but clearly I’m the prettiest, so you can stop arguing. Hush, eat your fries and drink your booze, come on, we have some partying to be doing, there’s no time for this!”

Yuuri sticks his tongue out. “I can multitask! I’m smart! I can argue _and_ drink!”

To demonstrate, ostensibly, he grabs the fruity cocktail in front of him and chugs half of it in one go, leaving a bit of red lipstick on the rim of the glass. He smears a little of it around the side of his lips again when he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and announces, “Vitya is still prettiest! See, I win.”

Viktor’s heart flutters in his chest. He is so, so in love with this man, and there is absolutely no help for him.

He reaches up and cups Yuuri’s jaw to hold him in place. “Hold still,” he murmurs, scrubbing the errant lipstick away with his thumb. Yuuri inhales sharply, his lips parting ever so slightly and his eyes wide, and he’s so pretty and so sweet and so good, and oh, god, it would be _so easy_ to lean in and kiss him right now…

Maintaining a bit of self-control is one of the hardest things Viktor has ever done, but he manages to make himself just peck Yuuri’s forehead instead of his lips, then pulls him into a hug again. Chris catches his eye over Yuuri’s shoulder and waggles his eyebrows, but Viktor ignores him.

He loves Yuuri. He loves Yuuri way, way too much to risk chasing him off by kissing him while they’re both inebriated. No matter how good it might feel to kiss him in the moment, he knows that tomorrow, Yuuri would ask _what was that about?_ and he’d have to come clean and say _I’ve been in love with you for ages,_ and Yuuri might not be comfortable staying with him in that case, and…

No. He can’t.

Besides, they’re both at least a little bit drunk. It wouldn’t be fair, especially because Yuuri’s, well—he’s had significantly more than Viktor has, so far, and he’s more “drunk” than Viktor’s “tipsy”, and…

Yeah, he absolutely cannot kiss him. It would be both stupid and wrong.

Besides, Yuuri seems very happy to be receiving a hug again, because he’s wiggling his hips to the beat of the music as he squeezes his arms around Viktor’s waist, swaying between his knees. “Vityaaa… Viiityaaaaa. Hey, Vitya!”

Viktor jerks himself back into reality. “What?”

“You should come dance with meee,” Yuuri wheedles. “You barely danced with me so far tonight! You gotta, pleeeease? I love dancing with you, and it’s late, and I wanna dance with you more before I get sleepy!”

Viktor blinks. He thought Yuuri was out there dancing with Phichit this whole time because he wanted to have some one-on-one time with him, so he didn’t intrude, keeping to himself or with Chris. But if Yuuri wants him to dance with him, well, who is he to refuse?

Yuuri, meanwhile, suddenly deflates a little, pouting ever so slightly. “Though… I guess you can dance with me whenever, in the living room or something, so it doesn’t matter, does it? You should dance with whoever you want to dance with…”

“Of course it matters,” Viktor objects, holding him by the shoulders and frowning at him. “Haven’t I told you that what you want matters too? And I _do_ want to dance with you! But you should eat a little and definitely finish your water first.”

Yuuri brightens again, grabs his hand, and clumsily kisses his palm, leaving a faint red mark. “Yay! Okay, okay. Food time. God, I will eat an entire potato.”

“Raw?” Phichit asks.

Yuuri throws a napkin at him. “No, you _heathen!”_

“Well, you didn’t _specify,_ ” Phichit protests, laughing. “How am I supposed to know what you mean? Isn’t that what Ciao-Ciao said about our reports last time? ‘Be more specific, boys, and if you’re going to use this squiggly notation I want a key to it’? That’s the meanest thing anyone has _ever_ said about my handwriting! Maybe you meant you were going to eat a squiggly potato!”

Yuuri opens his mouth, frowns, closes it again, and shakes his head. “You… lost me somewhere in there.”

“Potatoes aren’t squiggly,” Viktor offers, sagely, because he might not be an aspiring starwriter, but he sure does run the café below the apartment he and Yuuri share, and he knows a thing or two about potatoes. “They’re more… blobs.”

“Blobs,” Yuuri repeats. He finally hoists himself into the barstool next to Viktor, though he scoots it as close as it gets first so that he can tug Viktor’s arm around himself again, humming with contentment. “What if potatoes were amorphous solids?”

Apparently, that’s the funniest thing Phichit has ever heard, because he bursts into a bout of loud laughter until he’s out of breath and just silently wheezing, red-faced, over the table. Chris pounds his back, rather unhelpfully, and that sends both Viktor and Yuuri into a fit of the giggles, until the four of them are just sitting around their table and laughing like fools.

They eat the rest of their french fry platter and finish their drinks, and Viktor, pleasantly amused at everything and consumed by the desire to hug Yuuri for the rest of his life, reminds Yuuri to drink some water, too. Yuuri responds by chugging a glass triumphantly. He reaches over to Viktor’s jacket, on the back of his chair, and pulls the red lipstick out of its pocket, reapplying it before turning to Viktor and hauling him out of his seat.

“Dance time!” he explains, giving Viktor next to no time to agree before he pulls him off to the dance floor.

The music is even louder out here, closer to the speakers, and the twinkling lights sparkle magically on the rhinestones accentuating the collar and center of Yuuri’s dress. He laughs, throwing his arms up and swaying back and forth; as the melody swells, he slowly traces one hand down the curves and lines of his body, skimming enticingly over the patches of bare skin that contrast so sharply with the black fabric.

Viktor only realizes he’s staring, a little slack-jawed, when Yuuri grabs his hands and exclaims, “You’re not _dancing!”_

“Sorry, sorry!” He manages to shake himself out of his trance and lets Yuuri guide his hands, placing them on his hips. His skin is warm, and even though he’s held and touched Yuuri more times than he can count or remember, something about touching him like _this_ ignites sparks under his skin.

The dance floor is crowded, the throng of late-night revelers pressing them closer and closer together, until Yuuri laughs exultantly and loops his arms around Viktor’s neck, fingers interlaced and lightly brushing the hair at the base of his head. They sway together, chest to chest, forehead to forehead, and all around them, the heat and the colors and the lights seem to fade away until there’s nothing left but the music and Yuuri, pressed flush against him, dangerously beautiful and enticing and _perfect._

Minutes pass, one song blends into the next, and Yuuri presses his hands into Viktor’s back, squeezing him closer as they roll their hips to the music, together together together.

Desire rises in his stomach and roars up his chest, blazing past his heart and up his throat until he almost chokes on it. He wants to pull Yuuri even closer and kiss him hard, wants to scoop him up and carry him off the floor to someplace private, kissing him kissing him kissing him the whole while. Wants to peel this damn dress off him, slow and sensual, and leave kisses over every bit of bared skin he reveals, as well as all the skin already bared by the cutouts, the skin his hands have been brushing over all night. Wants to—

_You’re drunk,_ he reminds himself, breathing hard and a little dizzy from it all. _You’re drunk, don’t be stupid, you’re drunk._

“God,” he breathes, because it needs to come out _somehow._ “God, Yuuri, I love you so much.”

Yuuri walks his fingers up his chest, making him swallow hard when he transitions from fabric to skin at the low point of his collar. “Mmm,” he purrs, looking up through his lashes as he tips Viktor’s chin up just a touch, and Viktor’s breath hitches again. “I love you too, Vitya. Kiss me?”

“I—”

Viktor takes a deep breath to steady himself. He and Yuuri have a physically affectionate friendship. This should not be a big deal.

He leans in and kisses Yuuri’s cheek, lingering perhaps a little longer than he should, and withdraws carefully. The music drops to a low hum, and Yuuri sighs.

“That’s not what I _meant,_ ” he complains, then laughs. “Silly Vitya. I meant to _kiss_ me, like this,” and before Viktor can process what’s happening, Yuuri’s hands are cupping his cheeks and then Yuuri is _kissing him,_ hard and passionate and maybe a little clumsy but the heavens open up as all the stars descend and sing _perfect perfect perfect,_ and—

He jerks back, eyes wide. “Y-Yuuri, no, not—we’re drunk, we shouldn’t!”

Yuuri deflates completely, all the wind knocked out of his sails, and guilt punches Viktor in the stomach at the disappointed sadness in his face. But then Yuuri takes his hand in both of his, lifts it up between them, and almost too quietly to be heard over the throb of the pounding beat, says, “You’re glowing.”

Viktor catches his breath for what must be the millionth time tonight. “I am,” he admits, realizing that he’s _bright_ , too, and people around them in the low light are starting to stare. “I… I think we should go, Yuuri.”

Yuuri looks brokenhearted. Viktor has to try very, very hard not to lick his lips, not to kiss him again, not to throw all caution to the wind and sweep him up and run away anyway. “Okay.”

The kicked-puppy look is too much. Viktor leads him to the edge of the dance floor and then wraps him in a tight hug, holding him as close as he possibly can and memorizing the familiar feeling of his best friend in his arms. “I love you, you know,” he whispers. Yuuri probably can’t hear him above the music. Maybe that’s for the best. “I love you so, so much. I just—I don’t want you to do something you regret because of … because we’re both messy drunks and we know it.”

Yuuri burrows into his chest and doesn’t say anything, but he clings like a limpet. For a few seconds, the world stops turning, time stops flowing, and everything that isn’t the two of them, holding each other with impossible desperation fades away. How odd it is that they were having such a good time dancing less than a minute ago.

But there aren’t many ways to draw attention (and not all of it the positive kind) more successful than to start glowing bright as day in the middle of a dance floor, and Viktor is keenly aware of all the stares still following them. He might be able to handle that kind of attention, but he knows Yuuri _hates_ it, and hates that people stare and try to touch Viktor even more.

As if on cue, when someone walking by stops and openly gapes at his glowing skin and luminescent hair, Yuuri bristles in his arms.

“Hey, dude,” the other partygoer starts to say, and Viktor pastes on his café-owner disarming smile. “Are you like, one of those Celestial guys? I thought they weren’t allowed to leave the valley! Did you run away? Are they like, gonna have to track you down or something? My friend’s gonna owe me ten bucks when I tell him I saw you, oh man—”

“Leave him alone!” Yuuri snaps, and only Viktor’s arms tightening around his waist keep him from taking a threatening step forward. “He’s a person, not a cool item for you to check off your bucket list!”

“It’s alright, dearest,” Viktor soothes, the endearment slipping out before he has a chance to catch it. “You know I’m used to it by now.”

“That’s _worse!”_ Yuuri hisses.

Viktor addresses the rather chastised bystander with his fake smile again, nodding. “To answer your question, yes I am, and while we _are_ actually allowed to leave the valley, most of us choose not to because we don’t really want to deal with rude strangers and their invasive questions! Have a nice night, now.”

Yuuri is openly glaring by this point, and as the other man slinks away with a “Sorry, dude, I’m fucking smashed, my bad”, he turns to Viktor, arms crossed.

“You shouldn’t be used to it,” he mutters, poking his chest to accentuate his point. “People just stare at you and treat you like some kind of exotic _thing_ in a _zoo._ I hate it! You’re just a person who sometimes glows! What’s the big deal?”

Viktor shrugs, pulling him close and laying his cheek against his hair again. Yuuri is always so protective and good to him, god. “I suppose they’re just not used to people who glow. Most of us _don’t_ leave the valley, so I do understand it, but…”

“That’s no excuse,” Yuuri mutters, and gives him a tight, tight squeeze. Then he frowns, looks at Viktor’s neck, arms, and face. “But you’re not glowing anymore. You’re not happy now.”

Viktor sighs. “I’m fine, Yuuri.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “No you’re not. Let’s go home? I’m kind of tired anyway. Let’s go home.”

“Are you saying that just for my sake?” Viktor asks, drawing back to frown at him. “Because I can sit down for a little bit, drink some more, and then be perfectly fine!”

Yuuri levels him a very unimpressed look. “Vitya,” he says flatly, “I am like, three sheets to the wind—or is it four? I forgot how many sheets, oh no, that’s bad, I’m from a hotel and I don’t know how many sheets!—but anyway, um… what was I… Oh! Right! I’m drunk as hell right now and I still know that drinking to stop being sad is _not_ a good idea.”

Viktor quirks a tiny smile at him, incredibly touched that Yuuri is so concerned with looking out for him, even while he’s … “four sheets to the wind”. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says emphatically. “Phichit and Chris would back me up. Let’s go find them so they can help me tell you we’ll go home now. It’s late, anyway. I wanna sleep.”

Viktor chuckles, won over by those intent and innocently beguiling brown eyes, full of sweet and genuine concern. “Alright, alright.” He pets Yuuri’s hair gently, then wraps his arm around his waist as they weave through the crowd back toward their table.

Phichit and Chris aren’t here, presumably either getting more drinks, snacks, or dances, so Viktor sits down and sighs, sleepy now that Yuuri mentioned it. Yuuri, instead of being sensible and sitting in one of the other chairs, clambers up the rungs of Viktor’s chair and tosses himself across his lap.

“Whoa!” Viktor yelps, hurriedly wrapping his arms around him before he slides off and falls, and Yuuri giggles, kicking his feet as he wraps his arms around his neck. “Yuuri!”

“Vitya!” he crows. “Hi. You’re warm and I like you.”

“You’re soft and I like you too,” Viktor hums, giggling back as Yuuri favors him with a beautiful smile. God, he loves holding Yuuri. What he wouldn’t give to be able to lean in now and kiss him, to kiss him a hundred times until he’s flushed and breathless and has to gasp for air before he can keep giggling like he is right now. He loves the sound of that laughter so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself in moments like this.

Yuuri hums contentedly and nuzzles his cheek, and bubbly warm happiness surges up in Viktor’s stomach, but his brain tempers it with a warning. Yuuri kissed him, and he kissed Yuuri back, and now he knows, he _knows_ the way Yuuri’s kisses feel, and he could taste the alcohol on his breath, and god help him, he’s going to be thinking about that for weeks, and for both of their sakes, he can’t let it happen again.

“Viiiiityaaaa,” Yuuri wheedles. “Vitya, why don’t you look at me?”

“Because,” Viktor answers, looking for Chris and Phichit, “you’re too pretty, and if I look right at you, it might hurt my eyes.”

Yuuri snorts, untying the ribbon holding Viktor’s hair up and starting to run his hands through it. Viktor has to close his eyes for a moment in bliss; god, he loves the way Yuuri’s hands feel in his hair. He braids it for him at night sometimes, just because he says he likes doing it, and Viktor is very weak for it, too. “That’s silly. You’re the prettiest person in the world, and your eyes are okay even after looking in the mirror.”

Viktor chokes on a startled laugh. “You little flatterer.”

Yuuri pulls a lock of Viktor’s hair around to his face and puckers his lips to hold it in place under his nose, goes a little cross-eyed trying to see his new mustache, and ultimately drops it because he starts laughing. Viktor’s heart skips a beat and seizes up a bit. It’s so silly that seeing Yuuri goof around with his hair is what makes his heart scream _I love you I love you I love you_ again, but here he is, chest brimming fit to burst with adoration for the man in his arms.

“Oh!” Yuuri exclaims, and pats his cheek. “You’re happy again. Good!”

Viktor blinks. He hadn’t even noticed it himself, but sure enough, there’s a faint, soft glow under his skin, gentle and indistinct but there. “Oh,” he says, and lays his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, holding him close in his lap. “So I am.”

Yuuri kisses his temple and holds him like he’s the most precious thing on the planet, and Viktor smiles and just closes his eyes.

A few minutes pass, the music and the sounds of everyone else dancing and laughing and talking in the club blending into background noise as he sits and lets his mind wander and just thinks about Yuuri Yuuri Yuuri, until Yuuri shifts, lifting his head suddenly.

“Hey, cuddlebuds,” Phichit’s voice drifts over. “You guys look cozy!”

“Very cozy,” Yuuri agrees, his hand resting gently on the back of Viktor’s neck in a subconscious little gesture of protection and love. Viktor feels safe and loved. “I have a Vitya.”

“You sure do!” Phichit laughs. “You guys ready to head out yet?”

“I’m not even sure Viktor is still with us,” Chris says, sounding highly amused. “Viktor, darling, wake up, we’re leaving! Unless you want us to leave you here…?”

“No!” Yuuri immediately exclaims, smushing Viktor closer. “I’ll carry him!”

“I’m awake,” Viktor groans, finally lifting his head. “Don’t entirely wanna be, but I am. Let’s go home, yes.”

Yuuri slides out of his lap and wobbles a little, shaking his head. “Home sounds good. I want sleep. Vitya, you’re cozy.” He takes Viktor’s hand and leads him to the door, and Chris once again catches his eye and raises a brow. Viktor blinks at him, a little tired and more than a little confused and hazy, and only understands when Chris casually taps his lips with another meaningful look.

Oh.

Right.

Yuuri reapplied his lipstick right before they went back out to the dance floor, and after they went out on the dance floor, Yuuri kissed him.

Eyes a little wide, Viktor shakes his head and mouths, _Later._ Yuuri, at his side, doesn’t seem to notice; he naps on Viktor’s shoulder in the cab they take back to their apartment, and once they make it back home, he barely manages to stumble through his bedtime routine before he curls up in Viktor’s bed and goes out like a light.

* * *

In the morning, Viktor wakes first, as is normal. Yuuri is still fast asleep, the weight of his head on Viktor’s shoulder ensuring that there is absolutely no feeling in his left arm. He winces, smiling with fond exasperation, and begins the careful process of extricating himself; he didn’t shower last night before collapsing into bed, and he feels disgusting.

It only takes a few minutes, and soon he makes it to the bathroom, washing up and taking a good thirty or so minutes under the hot water. His hair is covered in glitter, for some reason—he supposes that’s a risk of going clubbing to celebrate his six months of successful café-running and an equally successful six months of research under Sorcerer Cialdini’s tutelage, for both Yuuri and Phichit. Chris, a regular who stops by every morning for a coffee, just came along for the fun, since of course the more the merrier. Now that Viktor thinks about it, maybe the glitter was his fault. Sprinkling friends with glitter certainly seems like something he would do.

Once he’s nice and clean, he brushes out his hair and lets it hang down his back to dry as he gets dressed and heads to the kitchen to put coffee on. Yuuri will probably appreciate caffeine, whenever he drags himself back into the land of the living.

Yuuri… who kissed him last night.

Viktor’s fingers jump to his lips automatically, replaying the memory of Yuuri’s mouth on his, sweet and passionate as he grabbed Viktor and held him, firm but so, so tender. His lips were so _soft,_ and he could taste the vanilla-scented lipstick and the alcohol, and…

His hand is shaking as he lowers it back to his side and stares into the depths of his coffee mug, the buttered toast in his saucer suddenly losing all appeal. Oh, god, why did he let that happen?

Yuuri probably remembers it, too. He was drunk, but Viktor doesn’t think he had enough to get blackout drunk, based on prior experiences, and oh, _god,_ they’re going to have to have a very awkward conversation whenever he gets up, aren’t they? _Sorry, Yuuri, I didn’t mean for you to find out like this but I’ve absolutely been in love with you for at least a year now and like the selfish idiot that I am, I just let you kiss me and I even kissed you back because I really, really wanted it, and I’m gross and a bad friend and I should probably go away now._

Fuck, Yuuri is going to hate him, isn’t he? He took advantage of him last night, not stopping that kiss, and now he feels _awful._ Even if Yuuri forgives him, he’ll still feel absolutely disgusting for the rest of his life.

Maybe if he gets down on his knees and begs, Yuuri will understand that he just made a mistake and won’t hate him or want him to move out and never speak to him again. Maybe, maybe Yuuri will realize that massive fuck-up or not, Viktor does really love him, a lot, and wants him to be happy, and will gladly never drink with him again so this never happens again if it makes him comfortable. Whatever Yuuri needs. Whatever…

Water starts to run in the bathroom. Viktor’s blood runs cold.

Soon enough, Yuuri shuffles into the kitchen, damp-haired and still bleary-eyed. So… here it is. Time for Viktor to make a complete idiot of himself all over again.

“Good morning,” he says, and Yuuri jumps about a foot into the air.

“ _Ohmygod,_ ” he wheezes, clutching at his heart with wide eyes. “I didn’t see you!”

Viktor tries to laugh, but it comes out as a pathetic chuckle with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I can tell.”

Silence descends, a little awkwardly. They haven’t had a silence that feels _awkward_ in… a long, long time, and Viktor utterly hates it, hates it more than he could possibly state. He wants things to be okay. He doesn’t want to lose Yuuri. God, he _doesn’t_ want to be alone again.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, made you coffee.”

Yuuri brightens, immediately pivoting to the mug cabinet. He seems a little on-edge, too, which means he must be thinking about last night. “God, I love you.”

Viktor laughs again, a little less awkward and stilted. “I love you, too, sleepyhead.”

Yuuri pours himself some coffee from the pot, meanders over to the couch, and plops down next to Viktor, helping himself to one of his untouched slices of toast. Viktor wrinkles his nose at the sight of the plain black coffee, no cream or sugar, but leaves Yuuri to it. Maybe it’s for the best that he can’t kiss him properly on a normal basis. He _hates_ the taste of straight black coffee.

“So,” Yuuri begins, conversational and casual, except Viktor knows him better than that and he knows that normally, sleepy-morning-Yuuri is clingy and drapes himself against him and whines, instead of sitting with a hand’s breadth between them and keeping his posture prim and proper. “How drunk did you get last night?”

“Pretty drunk,” Viktor admits, stomach churning. He takes a swig of coffee to try and settle his nerves, but it isn’t very effective. “You?”

Yuuri laughs, a bit more forced and higher-pitched than his normal laugh. Viktor doesn’t like where this is going. “Oh, me too. Actually, I was wondering, did I do anything stupid last night? Like, you know… I don’t know, whatever dumb things I do when I’m drunk?”

Viktor jerks back to look at him, stunned. “You don’t remember?”

Yuuri shakes his head quickly. A little _too_ quickly, maybe, but Viktor chalks that up to being uncertain about what might have happened last night. “I, um, remember wanting to punch someone,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you stopped me. I think I just. Danced a lot? But if I did anything else, um…”

“You didn’t punch anyone,” Viktor says, heart thundering in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. He is a coward and an awful person and he’s about to take the coward’s way out, because he’s too scared of being alone again to force himself to say what he should say. “And no, you… didn’t do anything stupid, as far as I can remember.”

Yuuri lets out a sigh of overwhelming relief. Was he _that_ worried about accidentally doing something silly in front of strangers? This isn’t the first time they’ve gotten very drunk together at a club, and he knows for sure that Yuuri has gotten far more drunk than this before. “Oh, thank god.”

As if a switch has been flipped, he slumps against Viktor’s side and nestles his head into his shoulder, and Viktor, a little confused but relieved and guilty all at once, gives him a gentle, playful nudge. “How’s your head?”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says wryly. “I think _someone_ was reminding me to drink water like, the entire night.”

He remembers the rude stranger and all Viktor’s water-nagging but not the kiss…?

Maybe he just has a bit of fuzz in his memory. That might be it. They should still probably talk about this, but right now Viktor just wants to relax, let himself calm down, and think it through. He has to bring it up at some point. He would feel guilty and bad if he didn’t, and he knows the longer he waits, the worse it’ll look, especially since Yuuri doesn’t remember it.

“Well,” he says lightly, in the meantime, “I’m glad it worked.”

Yuuri lets out a soft laugh, steals the second piece of toast, and then frowns. “Wait, were these mine or have you just not eaten yet?”

Viktor gives him a sheepish look.

“I can’t _believe_ you,” Yuuri huffs, pulling away and standing up. “Come on, silly. Let’s make a real breakfast.”

He tugs at Viktor’s arm to pull him up, firm but gentle as he always is, and Viktor takes a breath. Lets it out. Reminds himself to breathe, to relax, to smile. “Alright, alright,” he says, and this feels so normal and so right and so _them_ that he allows himself to believe, even if just for the moment, that everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ the anon on tumblr who asked when they'd smoochy-smooch... ur welcome B)


	4. the empty spaces in-between

_“Oh, my darling, you are so much more than the light that shines from within. Does the sun stop shining just because night falls?”_

.

.

.

The music shuts off abruptly as the door slams open, and Yuuri yelps in surprise as Phichit strides into the observatory, looking resolute.

“Okay,” he says, coming to stand in front of Yuuri’s chair, hands on his hips. “I am staging an intervention, right here, right now. You have _got_ to stop putting breakup songs on the lab playlist when you haven’t even _dated_ him yet.”

Yuuri huffs. “They’re just catchy! Not everything is about my lack of a love life!”

Phichit gives him a knowing look, shifts his weight to one hip, and taps his foot impatiently. “Riiight. And you’re definitely checking out the fate patterns from Alpharatz’s transits, and not pining or sighing or moping, right?”

Yuuri returns the knowing look with a dirty one. “For your information, I finished my work before getting… distracted.”

“So you admit you were distracted!” Phichit exclaims. “And thus, the songs do relate to your love life after all!” He pulls up a second chair and plops down in it backwards, leaning forward over the backrest. “Not to worry, the Hamster Man is in the house. Tell me all your problems, Yuuri. What have you done since we last talked about it?”

Yuuri hangs his head a little miserably. “Nothing…”

“Yuuri,” Phichit admonishes. “You gotta take the initiative sometimes, my dude! I promise you it’ll go well when you do bring it up. Like, I know you don’t believe me, but I’ve _seen_ the way that man looks at you. And he’s like, always _all_ over you!”

Yuuri shakes his head. “He’s just—that’s how we’ve always been, Phichit! I guess it looks different from an outside perspective, but it’s just normal with us. And he could honestly do so much better—”

“You take that back, or I will smack you. Or even better, I’ll tell him you were talking shit about yourself, and then he’ll just give you that sad puppy face because he doesn’t like it when you’re mean to yourself _because he is so far gone for you, I know you need glasses but this is not that hard to see, Yuuri._ ”

“That’s hardly evidence,” Yuuri scoffs. “You don’t like it when I say shit about myself, but you’re not head over heels for me. Or at least I hope you’re not, because this would be really awkward if you were.”

Phichit laughs. “Nope! I can promise you that much. Anyway, back to my _point._ Why do you keep waiting? You literally live with him, it’s not like there’s no opportunities to confess!”

Yuuri buries his face in his hands. How is it so easy in Phichit’s head when it’s clearly so, so hard? There are at least a million things that could go wrong, and at least half of them have something to do with the fact that last week, Yuuri kissed him when they were drunk and he doesn’t seem to remember it!

Not that that’s not a relief, because if Viktor doesn’t remember it, it means he can’t be upset that Yuuri just grabbed him and kissed him without permission, but this is the sick, guilty kind of relief, the kind that sits like an oily knot in his stomach and makes him feel bad for feeling relieved in the first place.

“I literally live with him, and it would be bad if I say ‘Hey, Vitya, I really want to kiss your stupidly pretty face’ and he’s just like ‘Uh, weird, no thanks’, and then he awkwardly avoids me for the rest of all time but we still have to live together!”

Phichit looks unimpresed. “So instead of that, you’re going to make me listen to breakup songs at five in the morning and awkwardly avoid him first?”

“I’m not avoiding him,” Yuuri protests, but it’s weak, and he knows it. “I’m just… trying to figure out what to do. Because I need to tell him. I know I need to talk to him. I just have to figure out… how.”

Phichit sighs. “Yuuri,” he says, “in all seriousness, like… I could sit here and tease and try to come up with a grand, ridiculous plan, but nothing is going to work better than you just going to him and saying, ‘Hey, I wanna tell you something’. Just be honest.”

“He might hate me,” Yuuri mutters, wrapping his arms around himself and pouting down at the floor.

“He wouldn’t,” Phichit consoles. “He loves you a lot and you mean so much to him, even if you’re right and he doesn’t feel romantically towards you. You really have nothing to lose, you know. He’s a good guy. I shouldn’t have to tell you that, you know him way better than I do, but do you _really_ think he’s the kind of person to ditch someone for having feelings for him?”

“No,” Yuuri sighs, hanging his head. “He’s really, really good, and he’s the sweetest person alive and I know he wouldn’t do that. Especially not to me. God, you’re right, I’m just stupidly nervous about this—I guess if I think about it that way though, maybe I can do it? If I just think about how he’s really good and not about how I suck. That might do it.”

Leaning back in his chair, Phichit laughs, then yawns. “Sounds good. In the meantime, can we stop with the breakup songs?”

Yuuri yawns, too—it’s been a late night, but they got their observations and notes down. “Okay, fine. God, Phichit, I need sleep, you know earlier I thought I read the omen for destruction while I was recording the transits? Like, big destruction, not little destruction. Can you imagine?” He laughs, and Phichit laughs too.

“Sounds like your poor gay anxiety is playing tricks on you, big time,” he teases as they leave the observatory and grab their things from their workstations. “Too gay, must be destroyed, preferable to confessing, death please come now. Is that it?”

“Probably,” Yuuri agrees, smiling into his scarf.

The wind is biting as they leave Ciao-Ciao’s observatory, dropping their night’s work into his office for him to review at some point when it’s not ass-o-clock in the morning. Phichit lives in the student housing nearby, so Yuuri bids him farewell and “Good morning? Night? Whatever, go to sleep” and heads on home.

He _has_ been avoiding Viktor, he realizes guiltily. It’s been really easy because of the schedule demanded by the stars, lately—they’ve had some stellar transits to observe all through the past week, which means that Yuuri goes out late, returns early, and sleeps all day. He’s hardly said more than “good morning” and “good night” to Viktor at all.

That does sting. Poor Vitya, who moved all the way to Chandani specifically for Yuuri. He deserves better. And he seemed upset last afternoon, when he closed up the café and came upstairs while Yuuri was getting ready to leave. He always isolates himself when he’s upset, and yesterday he took a single letter from the pile of mail on their dining table and sat alone in his room for hours. Again, it was too easy to avoid him.

God, Yuuri has been such a terrible best friend to him since the clubbing incident.

As he nears their apartment, he blinks in surprise. The café lights aren’t on, which is unusual—it’s nearly six, and Viktor usually opens by seven, so he’s usually downstairs and about to open up when Yuuri gets home. But the sign on the door still reads _Sorry, we’re closed!_ and there is no activity inside.

Maybe Viktor isn’t feeling well today, and he just didn’t notice. Maybe it has to do with the letter from last night.

Guilt mounting, Yuuri hurries upstairs and into their home, as quiet as he can in case Viktor is still asleep. He toes out of his shoes and pads down the hall, sees nobody in the living room or kitchen, and clambers up the stairs to the top floor.

The bathroom lights are on, and the door is open, and—

Viktor, sitting on the floor, lets out a harsh, choked sob, and Yuuri can’t help but gasp in shock and horror. Thick locks of silver hair lie discarded on the floor all around him, and near his feet is a pair of innocent-looking scissors.

Yuuri drops his satchel and runs. “Oh, Vitya,” he breathes, and Viktor’s head whips up. His eyes are wide and glassy, and his hair falls jaggedly, short, around his face as Yuuri falls to his knees in front of him, cups his cheeks, and shakes his head wordlessly before pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispers, stiff in his arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Yuuri murmurs, pressing him closer. “I’m here, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you. What happened?”

Viktor takes a shuddering breath and slumps against him, trembling. “Yura sent me a letter.”

Yuuri goes still. Yura, he knows, is the name of the young cousin that Viktor left behind almost eight years ago. That’s just about _all_ he knows, though, and he doesn’t understand. “What was in it?”

Viktor sniffles in his arms, and Yuuri rubs his back, caresses his shoulders, squeezes him tight. “He said… Dedushka never forgave himself for not seeing how badly I was doing before I ran. Said Dedushka still feels guilty about me. They’ve both been looking for me for years, he said, and… and…”

Here, Viktor is wracked by another sob, curling in on himself like he’s just been kicked, and Yuuri aches for him. “Vitya, listen, Vitya, you were a child yourself. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, okay?”

Viktor is crying openly now, wiping futilely at his face and shaking his head. “He hates me, Yuuri, he hates me for making Dedushka suffer, and I—I left because I didn’t want to ruin his life but I did anyway and he hates me for it, a-and, and he, he—”

“Oh, _Vitya,_ ” Yuuri murmurs, rocking him back and forth and back and forth, as soothing as he can be. “Vitya, he’s wrong, he doesn’t have your side of the story and he’s not in the right. He’s just blaming you because you aren’t there, and that makes you a convenient scapegoat for his problems, okay? Okay? It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

“It _is,_ ” Viktor sobs raggedly. “I left! It, it _is_ my fault, h-he said, he s-said if I didn’t want to b-be in the family anymore I, I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have kept her _name,_ ” and now he breaks down completely, wrecked and ruined and so, so sad in Yuuri’s arms.

Yuuri holds him, whispers words of comfort, and lets him cry it out, wishing he’d gotten home sooner. Wishing he’d been less of an absolute moron and had checked on him last night! Wishing…

Wishing he could give Yura a piece of his mind, for one. He has a few choice words he’d like to say to someone who would suggest that Viktor doesn’t deserve his mother’s name. Child or not, how senselessly cruel does someone have to be?

Which brings him to another question. How did they even find Viktor in the first place? Searching for years… does that mean they’ve just been waiting, looking for celestial people named “Viktor Nikiforov” to show up on their radar? The thought is a little unsettling, Yuuri decides. If they wanted to get back in touch with him, a vicious letter is _not_ the way to go, and after seeing how much this hurt Viktor, he’s not going to stand for it. Maybe he’ll write back. Let them know just how much their “family” deserves this bright star of a man, beautiful and kind and sweet as he is.

Viktor cries himself out eventually, sobs subsiding into sniffles until he’s silent, slumped against Yuuri’s chest. His legs must hurt from being folded under himself for so long—Yuuri knows he’s stiff from sitting on the floor this entire time—but he doesn’t move, doesn’t protest, doesn’t say _anything._

“Vitya?”

Viktor shifts his head in acknowledgment, a little too tired to even be called a nod.

Yuuri pats his back. “Do you wanna get up? We can move to bed for now.”

Viktor lets out a very deep, bone-weary sigh. “I need to go open the café for today. I’m already running late. God. I’m sorry, you must be exhausted…”

Yuuri kisses the top of his head, guilty for taking so long to take care of him rising up all over again. “I’d gladly lose a week’s worth of sleep if it meant I could be there when you need me.” _And I will, if I have to. I’m never making you deal with things alone ever again._

Viktor’s voice cracks. “I—I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he answers, looking down at this sad, tired lump of a man, quiet and heartbroken in his arms. He’s never wanted to protect anyone so much in his life. “Come on, Vitya. Let’s get you in bed. I’ll put up a sign saying you’re not well today. You’re taking the day off, and I’m staying with you. Come on.”

It’s a mark of how upset and exhausted Viktor is that he doesn’t even put up a token protest, instead just nodding tiredly and letting Yuuri help him to his feet. Yuuri pulls him into a crushing hug when they’re both standing, his poor stiff legs screaming in silent protest, and Viktor slumps into him, clinging desperately tight.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers into Yuuri’s cheek, shoulders slumped, and Yuuri shakes his head immediately. “You’re so wonderful, Yuuri, I don’t know why you still even want me around…”

“Because you make me happy, and I love you,” Yuuri answers, frowning. “Where is this coming from? Yura might think you’re a bad person, but he’s _wrong,_ and I know that because I’ve spent the past eight years with you, you know. I know what I’m talking about. He doesn’t.”

Viktor is very quiet, but he lets Yuuri lead him to his bedroom and tuck him in. Yuuri leans down and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’ll go put a sign in the window,” he says, aching as Viktor looks at him with silent but intense sorrow and yearning and melancholy and loneliness, “and I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll just be a minute.”

“Okay,” Viktor says softly. It’s weird, seeing him lying there without his hair fanned out all over the pillows. Now it’s short, messy and jagged, and he looks lost and tiny and like he sorely just needs to be held.

Yuuri hurries to write a quick note— _Viktor is not feeling well, sorry!_ —for the café window, running downstairs to stick it under the _Sorry, we’re closed!_ sign. He gets there just as Chris turns the corner and starts to walk to the door, stopping in surprise, and their eyes meet.

Yuuri opens the door. “Hey,” he greets, sure that by now he’s swaying on his feet from his own exhaustion but all the same too awkward to pretend he didn’t see Chris now. “Sorry. Vitya’s really having a hard time this morning, so…”

Chris’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is he? That’s unfortunate, please tell him I hope he feels better soon!”

“Thanks,” Yuuri says, nodding. “I’ll, uh. I’ll do that. When I go back upstairs. And talk to him. Which I’m about to do. God I need sleep, I don’t know why I’m babbling like this, okay, wow. Okay. Anyway, sorry about the lack of coffee, uh… enjoy your run?”

Chris chuckles and actually pats him on the head, placating and amused. “Of course, of course,” he says. “I’ll see you around, Yuuri. Get some rest, both of you!”

When Yuuri gets back upstairs, he finds Viktor all curled up in the blankets, as if he’s trying to make himself as small as he can possibly be. It’s heartbreaking to see him like this, and he makes short work of his clothes, slipping into pajamas and clambering into bed immediately.

“Hey, you,” he murmurs, reaching for Viktor, and just like that, Viktor scoots closer into his arms, and then clutches desperately at him, face buried in his neck. Yuuri lets out a soft breath and closes his eyes, rubbing his back. “Sleepy?”

“Mm,” Viktor mumbles noncommittally. Yuuri, who doesn’t want to fall asleep if Viktor’s going to be awake and miserable, prods him in the back to indicate that a non-answer isn’t good enough, and he sighs. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, satisfied. “Sleep. I’m here. And I’m not letting go.”

* * *

Viktor is still soft and fragile when they both finally get out of bed again, sometime around noon. He sits quietly as Yuuri carefully trims his messy hair into something approximating neatness, though Yuuri still thinks they should probably get him to a salon at some point because his own handiwork is, while admittedly not awful, nothing amazing either. Viktor doesn’t seem to have any comment either way, numb and staring at the floor.

“I’ve had my hair long ever since my mother was alive,” he admits, voice very soft. Yuuri knows—it’s been long the entire time he’s known Viktor. “She used to braid it when I was young. Like you would, with the flowers.”

Yuuri hesitates, then strokes the newly-trimmed fringe away from his face. “I know how to make flower crowns, too, and those don’t need to be braided in.”

Viktor leans forward and lays his head against his chest, wordlessly grateful, and Yuuri scrunches his fingers through his hair.

He sweeps the hair up from the bathroom floor, deposits it in the trash with a bit of a pang—Viktor loved that hair, he really did—and then follows his Vitya to the kitchen, where they set about making a lazy breakfast for two. They don’t talk much as they eat, content in the quiet of each other’s company, but Viktor hooks his foot around Yuuri’s ankle under the table, and Yuuri gives him a sweet smile in return.

“How are you feeling?”

Viktor sighs. He looks exhausted, shoulders slumped and face pale and withdrawn, and Yuuri really can’t help leaning over to place his hand over his. “I’ve been better.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri sighs sympathetically. He’s very bad at this, he thinks—there’s nothing he can really say or do that makes this better, so he’s just awkwardly plodding along and hoping for the best. “Are you feeling better than this morning, at least…?”

Viktor nods, biting his lip, and Yuuri gives him a wan smile.

“It’s gonna be okay, you know.” He squeezes Viktor’s hand. “It’ll be okay.”

“Nothing is going to change the fact that I made my grandfather sick with worry for the past eight years.” Viktor shakes his head, sharp and bitter like a winter’s wind. “Or the fact that my cousin hates me. As he rightfully should, because it _was_ all my fault for running away.”

Yuuri presses his lips together in disapproval for a moment before he takes Viktor’s hand in both of his, clasping it tight. “Okay, but… call me selfish, but I’m glad you ran. Because otherwise I never would have met you, and I’m really, really glad I met you.”

Viktor looks startled. Did he really never consider this side of things? “I—I didn’t mean I wish I didn’t know you! I’m sorry, Yuuri, it sounded like I was saying that, didn’t it? I’m sorry. How ungrateful I must seem, making you take care of me all day and then saying something like—”

“No, no, no,” Yuuri shushes, squeezing his hand. “No. First of all, you didn’t make me do _anything._ I didn’t even do anything either! All I did was sleep on you for a while. Secondly, though, you don’t sound ungrateful. I know it’s… you’re hurting, and it’s not easy to deal with that kind of confusion and guilt and everything else, and of course you might have regrets. I’m just saying that I’m glad I have you in my life, because I love you, full stop, end of story.”

Viktor looks at him plaintively, brows knitting together, but instead of saying anything, he slumps forward and rests his head on the table with a _thunk._ Yuuri chuckles and scrunches his fingers through his hair, petting him in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. He really wants to cover him in kisses and promise him that he is loved, loved, _loved,_ but he hangs back, because now is absolutely not the time to spring a confession like that on him.

He still yearns to press his lips to Viktor’s cheeks, his forehead, the smattering of constellation-like freckles lightly dusted across his nose, his closed eyes and his soft lips. Viktor is precious, beloved beyond measure, and god, Yuuri longs to let him _know._

Instead, he keeps stroking his hair—how odd it is to feel it so short, and if it’s odd to him it must be utterly alien to Viktor—and holding his hand, until finally he asks, “How did Yura get our address?”

Viktor groans into the table. “Do you remember,” he says, “when we first moved here, and I mentioned that I may have done something monumentally stupid and then never brought it up again?”

Yuuri remembers. He spent that evening huddled under a blanket with Viktor, watching movies to cheer him up after being so horribly shaken by fears of inadequacy. “Yes…?”

A deep, deep sigh escapes Viktor, and Yuuri pets his head a little more frantically. “I sent a letter back ho—to the address where I used to live, hoping that maybe Dedushka and Yura didn’t move, and I put a return address on it. I just wanted to tell them I’m alive and still think about them, but…” A shudder runs through him. “I am a selfish man.”

“You are _not._ ” Yuuri huffs. “You don’t have to let me see the letter if you don’t want to, but I have a few choice words for this Yura, for treating you like garbage when he doesn’t know your side of things at all.”

Viktor’s head snaps up. “You—no, no. There’s no need for that, I really don’t—I’d rather he forget about me than hate me more,” and he looks so desperately sad that Yuuri can’t resist getting up and walking around the table to hug him.

“I won’t,” he promises, “if you don’t want me to, I won’t. But I’m still thinking it.”

Viktor leans against him, closing his eyes. “He’s a kid. He’d be, what… fourteen, this year. He’s just hurting and lost and…”

“That doesn’t mean it’s your fault or that you’re a bad person for doing what you had to do to escape your own hurt,” Yuuri murmurs, rubbing his back. “You’re _good,_ Vitya. You’re really good.”

“Yura’s right,” Viktor sighs. “I owe them both such a huge apology for the past eight years. I…”

“Maybe,” Yuuri says gently, “but he owes you one, too. No matter what, you are still your mother’s son. That didn’t change just because you also became my best friend.”

Viktor sighs again, very mournful as he slumps into Yuuri’s embrace. “Can we drop this for now? I don’t want to think about it. I don’t know what to do, and just dwelling on it isn’t going to help anything.”

“Of course!” Yuuri squeezes him tight. “We can talk about something else. Wanna go sit on the couch? It’s more comfortable. I can tell you about the research we did last week?”

“Yeah,” Viktor nods against his belly. “That sounds good. Can we have hot chocolate?”

Yuuri lights up. “Oh, you’re a _genius_. Let’s do it.”

A few minutes later, they’re sitting side-by-side, mugs in hand. Viktor lays his head on Yuuri’s shoulder, quiet and content as Yuuri explains the latest aspect of his and Phichit’s apprenticeship project, the stellar transits, and how they factor into the larger experiment.

“So you see,” he says, a little excited and a little proud, “if we can factor in enough of the key players around a stellar body and its motion, we can start to put together the spells that can be derived from that motion! It’s funny because you know I used to hate all the movies where starwriters would just use fatecraft to _change_ things, because how the hell do you do that when there’s this many variables, right? But with this method, we start to account for a lot of the variables, and Ciao-Ciao actually thinks it might be possible to use fatecraft to change fate. How exciting is that!”

“Wow,” Viktor murmurs. He takes Yuuri’s hand and rubs his thumb over his knuckles, thoughtful. “Change fate how? As in, the past or the future, or…?”

 Yuuri wrinkles his nose. “Well, as far as the stars are concerned, time is a relative concept anyway, and there _are_ certain spells that don’t apply to it, anyway. It’s just that magic tends to make sure that any time-altering spells must have already happened, so they function in loops, and changing the past just ensures that it happens anyway.”

“Hmm,” Viktor hums. “What about the future?”

He’s actually interested and so curious, even though starwriting has never been as strong of a passion to him as it has for Yuuri. He cares just because Yuuri cares, and he cares about the thiings that make Yuuri happy, and suddenly, Yuuri really, really wants to kiss him.

“Ah—the future,” he manages, a second late, “right, um, well. We think that actually might be what might be more malleable? And that if we can rewrite what’s in the stars, we can change the fates they portend? But of course it’s very hypothetical, and the amount of energy a spell like that would take is enormous, so…”

Viktor hums again, turning Yuuri’s hand over and tracing the lines on his palm. “That could be some powerful and dangerous magic, in the wrong hands.”

Yuuri nods. “That’s part of why Ciao-Ciao wants us to research it well. So we can figure it out and figure out how it works so if anything goes wrong, maybe we can fix it. I guess it’s technically a secret, but I trust you,” and he giggles as Viktor pokes the center of his palm in a tiny, playful reprimand.

“Look at you, breaking rules and spilling important secrets.”

“That’s me,” Yuuri says lightly, catching his finger and running his thumb over its length, from knuckles to nail. “A rebel.”

He sets his mug aside for a moment, scoots around until he’s leaning against the armrest, and pats the space between his legs. Viktor scoots closer, leaning back against his chest, and Yuuri lets the magic start to flow from his fingertips, weaving little stars into existence with the deftness that comes from familiarity. This spell is as natural as breathing.

Viktor lets out a soft peep as he watches, and Yuuri can’t help but smile as he traces the stars into tiny constellations in a loop, twining them into a sparkling circlet that he sets weightlessly about Viktor’s head. Viktor sits up to look at him, his eyes shining, and then melts against his side again, the stars tickling a little as his head finds Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Hey, Yuuri?” he asks after a moment of silence as they both sip their hot chocolate. “Can I ask you something?”

Yuuri hums. “Mmm, go ahead?”

Viktor takes a deep breath. “If there’s someone you like, like… really, _really_ like, and you don’t want to mess things up with him but you really, really, really want to tell him you’re in love with him and want to kiss him a lot, how would you go about doing it?”

It’s like a kick to the stomach. Yuuri chokes on his hot chocolate, breath whooshing out of his chest, and Viktor sits up and pounds his back, alarmed, as he coughs and wheezes.

Viktor is in love with someone. Viktor is in love with someone and oh, _god,_ he always worried this day might come but he never realized how much it would hurt to have it confirmed, out loud, and _he can’t cry he cannot cry._ He has to be honest and give proper advice and… and… he wants Viktor to be happy. He does. He really, really wants Viktor to be happy. Even at the cost of his own heart.

“Yuuri?”

Eyes watering, he clears his throat. “Sorry! Um… I… Who?”

Viktor hums. “Consider it a hypothetical, for the moment.”

And Viktor doesn’t even want to tell him. Maybe he realized Yuuri is in love with him and he wants to spare his feelings, or _worse,_ he wants to distance himself from him. Maybe this is his way of telling him to back off.

Feeling worse by the second, Yuuri clears his throat again and swallows hard against the rising lump. “Um… I guess honesty would be the best policy? Just… tell him you love him?”

“Hmm.” Viktor taps his fingers on Yuuri’s knee, then nods. “That’s fair. Good idea. I love you, Yuuri.”

“I love you, too,” Yuuri manages, hoping he doesn’t sound as upset as he feels. He even tries to smile, but he’s not sure it reaches his eyes. Disappointment tastes so _bitter_ in the back of his mouth, and he still wants to cry. “So, is it still a hypothetical? Is it Chris?”

Viktor’s hand stills, and his brows knit together in consternation. “What? No— _Yuuri._ ”

Yuuri blinks at him, confused. “Then…?”

Viktor cups his jaw, shaking his head. There’s a little amused curve to his lips now as he sighs and murmurs, “It’s amazing that you’re simultaneously the most brilliant person I know, and yet…”

Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat. “Y-you mean…”

“Let me repeat myself.” Viktor leans in until their noses almost touch, and Yuuri’s heart skips two beats, leaping up to his throat. If he leaned in just a little, he could… “I love _you,_ Yuuri.”

Yuuri goes still and frozen in his arms.

Viktor… meant _him?_

He’s the person Viktor wants to hold and kiss and confess his love to? Viktor is in love with _him?_

Holy shit.

Viktor’s face falls as he starts to withdraw, mistaking Yuuri’s hesitation for reluctance, and Yuuri nearly spills hot chocolate everywhere in his haste to put his mug aside and grab him. “You—Vitya, oh my _god,_ ” he breathes, and then he can’t stop himself from leaning in and tilting his head just a little and kissing him, kissing his best friend, his darling, his Vitya. Viktor tilts his head too, his hand curving around the back of Yuuri’s neck as he nibbles at Yuuri’s lower lip. He tastes like chocolate.

When he starts to pull back, Viktor makes a little dissatisfied sound in the back of his mouth and kisses him again, soft and exploring and a little endearingly clumsy as he presses him closer. It strikes Yuuri that they have time to practice this, they have each other and they can get _better_ at kissing each other, and then he completely melts, breaking the kiss to lay his head against Viktor’s collarbone, his eyes very wide.

“Oh my god,” he breathes. “Holy shit. That just—that just happened?”

“It did,” Viktor laughs, finally leaning over to put his mug on the coffee table. He shifts to pull Yuuri against his chest, and Yuuri willingly snuggles into him, arms wrapping around his waist. “So I take it that, ah, you’re not weirded out by the fact that I love you and have wanted to kiss you a lot for months now?”

“Months?” Yuuri squeaks.

Viktor is blushing, when he happens to look up. “Well. Yes? It’s probably silly that I—but, no, I won’t be ashamed of loving you—”

“Months,” Yuuri repeats with disbelief, shaking his head. “I could’ve been kissing you months ago.”

Viktor blinks. Then he starts to laugh, ruffling Yuuri’s hair fondly before tipping his chin up. “Well, we _could_ always make up for lost time, you know…” and he grins, playful and ever-so-slightly competitive, daring Yuuri to meet him halfway, but then his smile fades. Uncomfortable and a little guilty, he lets his shoulders slump, and Yuuri’s anxiety spikes back up. “But… there’s something I haven’t told you, and… I’m really sorry. I meant to bring it up sooner, I really did, but I kept… chickening out.”

Yuuri sits up now, concerned. “What is it?”

Viktor blows out a breath and rubs his temples. “First of all, I’m an idiot and I really should have just mentioned this as soon as it happened, and I’m sorry that I didn’t. I should have. I know I should have. But—okay. Remember when we went to the club the other week? And you asked me whether you did anything stupid while drunk?”

Yuuri’s stomach lurches unpleasantly. He has an unfortunate recollection of that night to share, too. “Yes…?”

Viktor rakes a hand through his hair, a momentary flash of surprise crossing his face when it ends right at the base of his head. “I lied when I said nothing happened. Um. Y-you kissed me, and I didn’t stop you, and… I’ve been feeling really bad about that, and for not telling you about it. I’m really sorry. We were drunk, and I shouldn’t have let that happen, but—”

“Y-you regret it?” Yuuri interrupts very softly, eyes downcast.

Viktor swallows hard. “I… regret not telling you about it as soon as you said you didn’t remember everything,” he says slowly, carefully. “And I feel guilty that—I don’t regret kissing you. I don’t think I ever could.” He licks his lips. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri lifts his head a little nervously. “I, um… might have lied about that?”

Viktor blinks, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“When—when I said I didn’t remember.” He bites his lip hard, looking away. “I felt—I felt really bad that I just—I just forced you to kiss me in the middle of everything, and… when you said nothing happened, I thought, if you didn’t remember, maybe—maybe we could both just leave it in the past so you wouldn’t hate me for it, and I _know_ that was wrong of me, and I’m sorry, I really really am, and I promise I won’t—I won’t do anything like that again, and—”

Viktor touches his cheek. His mouth snaps shut.

“So what I’m hearing,” he says softly, “is that we’re both idiots who both wanted to kiss each other, and who did kiss each other while drunk, and we’ve both been sitting here ever since, feeling guilty for having enjoyed kissing each other?”

Yuuri giggles despite himself. “When you put it that way, it sounds kind of stupid.”

“It _is_ kind of stupid,” Viktor says, starting to chuckle, and the anxiety in Yuuri’s stomach recedes as Viktor folds him into his arms again, tucking him close to his chest. The starry circlet still sparkles around his head, and he’s absolutely beautiful. “So, again. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, too,” Yuuri says, arms tightly encircling his waist. He closes his eyes, pliant in Viktor’s embrace, and lets out a contented sigh. “…Next time we get drunk together, you have my explicit permission to kiss me as much as you like.”

Viktor’s fingers trace out a heart in between his shoulderblades. “Only when we’re drunk?”

Yuuri lifts his head, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you have plans for when we’re sober, too, I’d like to hear them…”

Viktor grins, and Yuuri notices him glowing again, for the first time all day. He’s absolutely gorgeous, and it really isn’t fair.

“I think my mouth might be busy with things other than _telling_ you,” he teases, grinning wider when Yuuri’s face heats up, “but perhaps a demonstration might be in order?”

“Maybe so,” Yuuri agrees, cheeks pink, and leans in again to get that demonstration started.


	5. supernovae

_“I could never be afraid. Not when I have your light to protect.”_

.

.

.

The café is closed on Sundays. Sundays are Viktor’s time to rest, to sleep in a bit, and to relax without having to run around a kitchen all morning. He’s especially glad on this particular Sunday, because today, it’s raining and kind of cold, and he doesn’t have to go out, and even better…

“Sleepy,” Yuuri mumbles into his shoulder, slumping into him.

…Neither does Yuuri.

Viktor laughs and hugs him, burying his face in his hair as Yuuri wraps his arms around his waist and sighs deeply. “Poor Yuuri,” he coos, rubbing his back. “It’s okay. Coffee will wake you up soon.”

He’s glowing and he knows it. He’s been happy, happy happy happy every time Yuuri reaffirms his love, and every time he gets to spend even just a few minutes with Yuuri his spirits lift. It’s amazing how good for him Yuuri is—his best friend, his boyfriend, and though it might be a little soon to say it out loud, the absolute love of his life. He makes him feel so much better about… everything! His family situation, their work in Chandani, just life in general!

Yuuri nuzzles his shoulder. “Why am I awake this early?”

Viktor squeezes him close. “It’s not early, and you’re awake because you love me?”

“I do,” Yuuri huffs, “but it’s definitely early, and I still love you when I’m asleep.”

Viktor tips his chin up, leans in, and kisses him softly. Yuuri melts into him all over again, soft and open and endearing, and when he pulls back, he lifts his head and pecks the tip of Viktor’s nose before he nestles his head back against his shoulder.

Viktor lets out a dreamy sigh. “You’re cute.”

“I’m _tired,_ ” Yuuri corrects. “You made me get out of bed. Meanie.”

“I wanted to hold you,” Viktor whines.

Yuuri does not seem impressed, sniffing delicately. “You could’ve held me in bed,” he points out, and Viktor can’t hold back a laugh. He lays his cheek against Yuuri’s temple and squeezes him tight, and Yuuri responds by tightening his arms around his waist. “We could always go back to bed.”

“Coffee’s almost ready,” Viktor wheedles, swaying him back and forth. “Yuuuuuri, don’t go back to sleep, I’ll miss you!”

“Oh,” Yuuri grumbles in his arms, “that’s a low blow.”

Viktor laughs.

They make their way through breakfast, do the dishes side-by-side as usual, and finally sink onto the couch, where Yuuri tucks himself under Viktor’s arm and Viktor kisses him one or five times. He still isn’t over the fact that he gets to do that now, and Yuuri pokes him in the cheek and giggles.

“You’re cute,” he says. Yuuri responds by kissing him again.

“And you’re glowing.” He traces his fingers over Viktor’s cheek, brushing through that odd new fringe hanging above his eye, and down his jaw. “Wow.”

“You seem surprised.” Viktor raises an eyebrow. Yuuri’s hand is a little cool against his skin, and Yuuri is so soft, leaning into his side. “I would have thought that you’d know by now that you make me a very happy man.”

Yuuri blushes immediately, ducking his head with a squeak. “You sap,” he mumbles, but he lifts his chin again half a second later and pushes Viktor down with a kiss, pressing him back into the couch cushions until he finds himself on his back, Yuuri above him, being kissed kissed kissed. He is in heaven.

When Yuuri withdraws, face definitely pink, Viktor immediately kisses the tip of his nose and smiles up at him, utterly besotted. “Wow.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, starting to pull away, but Viktor grabs him and immediately squishes him into a hug. “Oof.”

“Why are you _apologizing?”_ He shakes his head. “You should do that more often. Is that what you’re going to do every time I say something sappy? Because in that case, I can definitely be sappy more often.”

He nuzzles his face into Yuuri’s hair and kisses his hairline, then his forehead, his brows, and his closed eyes, as tender as he can possibly be, and Yuuri sighs, smiling. “You’re silly.”

“Of course. Anything to see you smile.”

Yuuri laughs softly at that, kisses him again (slow and sweet, and his mouth still tastes a little bit like the pomegranate white tea he had at breakfast after his coffee), and then pecks the tip of his nose. Then he rolls to his side, tucked between Viktor and the back of the couch, and reaches up with one hand, summoning tiny dancing stars into existence. They twirl around his fingertips like little sparks, glimmering even in the relatively bright room, as he guides them into a long string.

As he works, the movements of his arm dainty and precise, the stars settle into a glowing hoop. Yuuri takes this constellation crown and places it neatly atop Viktor’s head, then kisses his nose again.

“There,” he says, satisfied. “I love how you look with stars around you. You’re beautiful, you know?”

Viktor melts, nuzzling his face into the palm of Yuuri’s hand. He can’t stop smiling. “Oh, I love you, Yuuri, my Yuuri, my sweetest darling Yuuri.”

Yuuri laughs softly and lies back down against him, nuzzling into his neck and kissing his collarbone. Viktor wraps his arms around him and smiles. It’s so nice that Yuuri likes cuddling just as much as he does. They’re cozy together, always happy in each other’s arms. Maybe they keep saying extremely sappy things, but he _likes_ hearing them. Maybe that’s why Yuuri keeps saying them.

“I don’t want to go to the observatory tonight,” Yuuri groans, and Viktor blinks.

“Why not?”

Yuuri huffs. “Wanna cuddle. And sleep. Cuddlesleep.” He sighs, his hand wandering up into Viktor’s hair, and Viktor closes his eyes in bliss as his fingers start to scrunch through it, stroking his scalp. “I keep seeing the wrong omens in the stars. It’s really messing with me—I thought I saw major destruction last week but that it was just me being sleep-deprived, but I saw it again this week, twice. Ciao-Ciao said he saw it, too, but only for an instant. I don’t know what it _means._ ”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Viktor murmurs, his hand finding Yuuri’s back almost protectively. “Major destruction?”

Yuuri sighs. “Yeah, it’s … well, what it sounds like? It’s got to do with the Algol system. I was doing some simple calculations earlier, about the transits from Alpheratz I was tracking the week before last? And I saw it again. There’s a pattern there that’s just… weird. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just sleep deprivation and anxiety getting to me.”

“Could be, but if Sorcerer Cialdini saw it too, that could be bad,” Viktor frowns. Yuuri’s fingers still in his hair for a moment, and he starts rubbing Yuuri’s back in response. He isn’t as familiar with the ins and outs of starwritten omens, but if Yuuri is seeing major destruction, doesn’t that mean imminent disaster is approaching and that they should do something about it?

Yuuri sighs again. “Yeah. I’ll just have to keep a look out for it, and hopefully next time I see it I’ll see something that also gives us an idea of when or where or… _anything,_ really. For all I know, it means there will be a huge earthquake in ten years, or maybe a building will collapse tomorrow. It’s so broad.”

“Don’t worry about it if you can’t change it,” Viktor advises, starting to massage the tension out of his shoulders. Yuuri lets out a soft sound of contentment under his hands, and he smiles, kissing his hair. “Just do what you’re doing. It’ll be alright.”

Yuuri heaves a third sigh and deflates into him. “I know. I know.”

“It’ll be alright,” Viktor says again, and he really, really hopes he’s right.

* * *

_My dearest Vitya,_

_I cannot overstate how glad I was when your letter arrived! I am so, so relieved to hear that you are alive and well, and have found a place you can be happy. I have hoped, and I have prayed, and I have begged the heavens to bring you joy, and it seems they have listened! You are a good boy, Vitya. A good man, rather. You have grown up, haven’t you? I am proud._

_I also believe Yura got ahold of your letter and sent you a rather nasty reply. I have reprimanded him for this; you must understand, he loved you dearly and is still upset that you are gone. I hope you do not hold it against him too long. He is young, still growing, and confused, but he means well. I have instructed him to apologize to you for what he said about your name—your mother’s name—as well. That was uncalled for and you will always be part of this family, Vitya._

_To answer your questions, I am doing well! I have missed you very much, and ever since you sent to us, I have felt at least ten years younger! It does my old heart good to know that my grandson is happy. Life has been much of the same, here in the vale. Georgi—you remember Georgi, yes? Your classmate?—is engaged and seems to be settling down with a nice girl, Anya, I don’t know if you remember her or not. Yura has made a new friend, little Mila, who is not so little anymore. I and Lilia have taken up learning embroidery together in the past few years! I have enclosed a little something for you in this envelope._

_I love you very much, Vitya, and I hope you do not hold the past against yourself. Yura told me this morning That he wrote to you in his anger, and what he said to you, and it was inexcusable. He told me that he replaced the letter I wished to send you with that one. He is not off the hook for this._

_But Vitya, I am very sorry for what he said to you, and I have spoken to him about it. He has told me he did not mean most, if not all, of it, and that he was just upset when your letter arrived because he thought it was unfair that you could be happy while we, uncertain, never knew and were sad for you, not knowing. This is not true, and you have certainly suffered enough. He acted rashly and regretted it, but only now asked for advice on how to fix this. I wish he had told me sooner, so I could have written you back sooner. You deserve happiness, Vitya. I am glad you found it._

_On that note, I sincerely hope you would like to maintain correspondence with us, though after what Yura said to you, I would understand if you did not. But if you do, tell me about your Yuuri! He seems like a lovely young man._

_Lots of love,_

_Dedushka_

* * *

Viktor reads the letter again. A third time, and a fourth, carefully tracing each line with delicate fingers, his breath catching in his throat. After… after all this time…

The air leaves his lungs with a _whoosh._ Finally, _finally,_ he feels at peace about the mess with Yura—finally, thinking about his family back in the Vale doesn’t fill him with dread and shame. After Yura’s letter came and nothing from Dedushka did, well…

The last six months felt impossibly long, lacking in all forms of closure and instead just filling him to the brim with horrific guilt, until it overflowed like a deluge breaching a dam, and even though he was alright in the daytime, sometimes Yuuri would have to pick him up from the floor in the evenings and put him back together after he cried his heart out, again and again.

He made Yuuri late a few times. Yuuri said that Sorcerer Cialdini wouldn’t mind, knowing the circumstances, but he still felt bad for it nonetheless.

Finally, he puts it down, smiling tremulously. It arrived yesterday, but he was too afraid to open it until now, and now—the sun is almost peeping over the horizon, it’s a new day, and things are okay.

He hums as he combs his hair (his short, short hair, and how odd it still feels to see it in the mirror, even though he expects it now) and hurries down to the café.

Ten minutes before Sara, the girl who handles the customers while he bakes and makes drinks, is scheduled to arrive, Yuuri trudges in through the front door, bleary-eyed and clearly tired. He doesn’t say a word as Viktor brightens and says, “Good morning, Yuuri!”, instead electing to drag himself over to the counter and slump directly into Viktor’s arms.

“Hi,” he mumbles into his shoulder. “God, I’m so tired. My head hurts.”

Viktor hugs him back and ruffles his hair affectionately, unable to keep from smiling down at him. “Then go upstairs and get some sleep, silly.”

Yuuri, adorable and silly man that he is, just groans. “Mmf. So far away.”

Viktor lifts an eyebrow. “You can walk from the observatory to here, but not up one last flight of stairs?”

A tiny shake of the head. “No. Too far uphill. Carry me.”

Viktor leans his head back and laughs. “Now, now, you know I have work I need to be doing,” he chides, tipping Yuuri’s chin up, and Yuuri grumbles something under his breath and huffs quite petulantly. Viktor kisses him anyway, because that’s a thing he can do, and it’s successful in bringing a smile to Yuuri’s beloved face. “Go on upstairs, get some sleep. I’ll be with you later, darling.”

Yuuri steals another kiss, which Viktor is more than delighted to give him, and heaves a tired sigh. “Mmkay. G’night. Good luck with work.”

Viktor gives him a final squeeze and lets go, patting his head. “Thank you, thank you. Oh, and when you wake up, remind me! I have good news to share!”

Yuuri blinks at him. “You can’t tell me now?”

Viktor laughs. “I can, but I feel like you’d rather I tell you when you’re less dead on your feet.” He leans in to plant a reassuring kiss to his darling boyfriend’s soft lips (so soft, especially because Viktor is _always_ having to put chapstick on him) and adds, “It’s good news, I promise.”

Yuuri gives him a suspicious look, then nods. “Mmkay,” he says, again, and the bell over the door chimes. Both of them look up as Sara Crispino, Viktor’s coworker, walks in with a bounce in her step and a cheery wave.

“Good morning!”

“Good morning, Sara!” Viktor says.

“Myergh,” Yuuri manages, his face planting itself firmly in Viktor’s shoulder again. Viktor pats his head sympathetically, and Sara laughs.

“Mornings are hard, huh,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “It’s nice to see you, though, Yuuri! I’d offer you coffee, but…”

“But _someone_ is going to go upstairs and _sleep,_ ” Viktor finishes, prodding Yuuri’s side, which he knows, and which Yuuri knows he knows, is ticklish. “Because slumping around on me isn’t going to get him any rest, even if he is cute and cuddly.”

“I don’t wanna climb stairs,” Yuuri whines. “You’re mean. And hi, Sara. I’m dead.”

“Yuuuuuri,” Viktor sighs, scrunching his fingers through Yuuri’s hair. “Do you seriously just want me to carry you up the stairs? Is that it?”

Yuuri steps away with a huff. “No…”

“I could, you know,” Viktor offers, reaching for him, and something about his smile must indicate what he’s thinking, because Yuuri’s eyes narrow as he claps his hands over his sides and takes several steps back. Viktor holds up his hands innocently and flutters his eyelashes, which has Sara laughing as Yuuri glares.

“You’re terrible and I’m going to bed,” he announces, flouncing to the door in the back of the café that lets him up to the stairs. “Good _night_.”

“Good night!” Viktor calls cheerfully. “I love you!”

Yuuri sticks his head back into the room for just one moment, still looking adorably disgruntled. To be fair, everything he does is adorable. There is no non-adorable Yuuri look. Except for maybe when he’s really, really sad, but then he’s still adorable in the way that means Viktor wants to scoop him up and protect him forever. Right now? He just looks grumpy, kissable, and teasable.

“I love you too,” he says, still pouting, and shuts the door behind him.

Sara laughs again, putting her purse and coat in the staff room and coming back to her stool at the cash register. “Not a morning person in the slightest, is he?”

“To be fair, I suppose I would be grumpy if I had to stay up all night, too,” Viktor says, certain he just reeks of fond amusement right now. “He’s dealing with some stressful times at the observatory, too, so he’s less excited about it than he used to be.”

“Oh, no!” Sara looks worried. “Is his apprenticeship in danger?”

“What? Oh, no no, nothing like that!” Viktor shakes his head quickly. “They’re just working on a project that has him very stressed.”

“Ah,” Sara says, nodding understandingly. “That makes sense. They probably have all sorts of complicated magic going there, don’t they?”

“They do,” he laughs. “Yuuri’s told me about a lot of his work. It’s amazing, Sara, he’s so brilliant, and he works so hard! He really is such an inspiration. I don’t entirely know what I want to do with myself, but I’ll always support him. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Sara smiles a little soft smile and tucks her hair behind her ear. “That’s really sweet.”

The reminder of the omen for major destruction that’s been hanging overhead and bothering Yuuri for over two weeks now niggles unpleasantly in the back of his mind, stirring up unease and concern, but he tries to ignore it for now. It’s not like there’s anything he can do about that. He might be descended from the night sky, but he can’t exactly go up and alter what fate has already written in the stars. Nobody can.

(Unless Yuuri’s project with Phichit and Sorcerer Cialdini pans out, but that kind of payoff is _years_ away.)

“Yeah,” he says instead, getting up to check on the pastries on the cooling rack. “I think I want to marry him, one day.”

“You should!” Sara, ever an enabler, nods emphatically. “You’re good together. It’d be cute!”

“Thank you!” Viktor smiles. They’re still too warm to decorate, so he sits back down to wait, swinging his legs from his tall stool. “I think so, too.”

He decorates his pastries, puts them in the display case, gets a second batch baking, and puts on his professional smile as the day wears on and customers come in and out. Chris stops by after his run, as usual, and as usual Viktor makes him a cherry mocha latte with a truly ridiculous amount of whipped cream, drizzled with chocolate sauce and with a cherry on top for good measure. Chris takes it with his usual drawled _“Thank_ you,” and a wink, and then since there’s a lull for the moment, he hangs around to chat. “How’s Prince Charming?”

“Sleeping Beauty, more like,” Viktor laughs. “He’s alright, just stressed from work and all tuckered out. He must be asleep by now. Very cute, you know.”

“Oh, yes,” Chris agrees, leaning on the display case and grinning indolently. “You have good taste, you know. He’s very cute.”

“I don’t know about good taste, or taste in general,” Viktor balks, shaking his head. “It’s only ever been him.”

“Oh, that’s precious,” Sara coos. She makes herself a drink, too, and comes over to join them, perching on the edge of the counter. “How are you, Chris? Finally done with the neighbors from hell?”

“Oh, I’m doing alright! And yes, they’re gone.” Chris waves a hand. “My new neighbor moved in yesterday, so I’m thinking of baking something and bringing him a housewarming present. Except work is going to have me busy all afternoon and evening, so I would have to be unfortunately late with it, or I’d have to leave in the middle of talking to him if I did it soon just to be on time. Ah well, I can just go say hi on the weekend. I do hope he’s going to be better than those two.”

Viktor snorts. “To be fair,” he offers dryly, “I feel as though he’d really have to put in some effort to be _worse._ ”

Chris hangs around and trades gossip with them a while longer, ranging from his neighborhood to the dance program where he teaches to his latest misadventures while shopping with Phichit, which Viktor has heard about through Yuuri but not in any detail. The lunch rush comes and goes, and then the afternoon comes, bringing with it the day’s winding-down and closing. As usual, Viktor and Sara clean up, double check inventory, and do a few other tasks before leaving, and then he bids Sara a good day and heads upstairs.

He makes two lattes, adding extra sugar and caramel and whipped cream to one and leaving the other plain, and sets them on a tray before heading down the hall to Yuuri’s room. Yuuri isn’t there, which means he’s in Viktor’s room, and sure enough, there he is, snuggled up with a pillow clad in one of Viktor’s loose sweaters.

_Adorable._

“Darling,” he croons, setting the tray down on the bedside table and sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s exhausted, after a long day spent mostly on his feet, and he wants to hold Yuuri and tell him about the letter. “Wake up, Yuuri.”

Yuuri sighs as he strokes his cheek, then gently shakes his shoulder. After a moment, he groans and opens bleary eyes, blinking dolefully up at him. “Mmm?”

“I made you coffee,” Viktor offers.

Yuuri brightens and immediately shuffles around in bed to lay his head in his lap, arms around his waist. “Love you.”

Viktor laughs and ruffles his sleep-mussed hair. “I love you too. Here, come on! Get up, wash up a little, you’ll feel more alive.”

Yuuri sighs. “In a minute… s’nice.”

Pursing his lips, Viktor raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re basically folded in half, you pretzel. Are you sure it’s nice?”

“Mm.” Yuuri nods against his thigh. “Snuggle.”

Viktor can’t help but smile, incredibly fond, at that. “Alright, alright. C’mere, you,” he murmurs, reaching down, and without too much effor, he manages to haul his sleepy boyfriend into his lap, where he blinks a few times and then nuzzles his face into Viktor’s hair.

“Five minutes?” he asks, his voice soft and breathy, and Viktor might be on a slippery slope by agreeing, but he really, really can’t say no to Yuuri like this, not when he’s tired and Yuuri is clingy and soft. It’s got the potential to be a real problem in his life.

“Five minutes,” he agrees, scooting back so he can lean against the pillows at the head of the bed. He _is_ very tired, and Yuuri is very persuasive. So long as he doesn’t close his eyes for too long, it should be fine. “Just five, though. The coffee will get cold.”

“Mmhmmm.”

He strokes Yuuri’s hair as they sit together, and Yuuri sighs in his arms, pressing a sleepy little kiss to his neck. He doesn’t say anything, but Viktor can feel his eyelashes flutter against his skin as he blinks, and he smiles, leaning his cheek against Yuuri’s temple. Yuuri is sweet and gentle and good. Viktor loves him so, so much.

Eventually, after what’s probably more than five minutes, Yuuri lets out a deep breath and lifts his head, blinking a few more times. Viktor pecks his cheek.

“Awake, sleepyhead?”

“More or less,” Yuuri answers, winding his arms around his neck and leaning back into him for a moment, just for the closeness. He pulls away and pads to the bathroom after that, washing his face and freshening up before he comes back to Viktor, who puts his phone aside and holds out an arm. Yuuri plops down at his side, leaning a little into him, and passes him the mug with the melted bits of whipped cream still floating on its surface.

“Thank you.”

“Mm.” Yuuri sips his coffee carefully, then smiles. “This is good. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Viktor takes a slow sip of his own, then leans his cheek against Yuuri’s head. This quiet time with just the two of them is just what he needs after a long day; it’s already helping him recharge. Yuuri reaches up and ruffles his hair, and for a few minutes, they just sit together, drinking their coffee and basking in the quiet.

Eventually, Yuuri puts his empty mug aside, and Viktor wordlessly passes his over, too. Yuuri takes this as a sign to turn and hug him properly, arms winding about his waist, and Viktor chuckles, kissing his forehead.

“You said you had good news?” Yuuri peeps up at him. He still hasn’t bothered to put his glasses on, and his hair is sleep-mussed and very endearingly messy as it flops about his face.

“Ah. Yeah.” Viktor lets out a deep breath, relaxing as he leans back against the pillows again. “I got a letter from my grandfather.” He can’t help but smile again, just thinking about it, thinking about that poignant relief and joy. “He said Yura hid the letter he originally was going to reply with in anger when he sent his, and only now told him what he did. Yura’s in trouble, but Dedushka isn’t angry with me, and… he thinks everything is going to be alright.”

“Oh!” Yuuri gives him a squeeze, elated. “That’s wonderful, Vitya!”

“Yes,” Viktor says, smiling more broadly.

Yuuri leans in and kisses him soundly, and Viktor pulls him closer, sighing against his lips. Yuuri nuzzles his nose after that, propped up on his elbows over him, and kisses him again. “I’m really happy for you,” he says, cupping his cheek. “Did you write back?”

“I haven’t yet,” Viktor shakes his head, “but I’m going to. How was the sky, by the way?”

Yuuri groans and flops down to bury his face in his neck. “Ugh.”

“That bad?”

“Major destruction is stressing me _out,_ ” Yuuri complains. His voice is a little muffled, and after a moment he turns his head so he can speak a little more clearly. Viktor pats his shoulder. “It’s back again, and it’s been constant for the past week. Phi and Ciao-Ciao see it too. I don’t know… ugh. I feel like it’s a fatecraft thing, and the answer is in the back of my head but I can’t pull it to the front. It’s really frustrating.”

Viktor strokes his hair soothingly. “You’ll figure it out, sweetheart, I know you will.”

Yuuri sighs. “I hope so. I’m going to go back in tonight—I’m sorry, I know we wanted to have date night tonight, but I’m really worried something bad is going to happen…”

Ignoring the little feeling of sinking disappointment, Viktor nods. “Of course,” he says, rubbing Yuuri’s back. “It’s a stressful situation. I understand, dear.”

Yuuri kisses his collarbone. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promises, his voice tiny. “I’m just—it scares me, Vitya, you know? I’ve never seen that omen up there before. It’s supposed to be the kind you only see in the textbooks. And… if it’s major, I just—if it’s going to be something that could hurt you, I… I don’t want… I can’t…”

He swallows hard and trails off, shaking his head, and Viktor lets out a breath, squeezing him closer. “Oh, Yuuri, nothing is going to happen to me. I’m right here.”

Yuuri kisses his neck this time, twining his fingers in his hair. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” he agrees. “I won’t let it.”

* * *

The holoscreen by Viktor’s bed lights up at quarter til four in the morning, jolting him out of sleep. There’s a recorded message playing, from a call he apparently slept through, and groggily, he registers Yuuri’s voice.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says. “You’re asleep. God. Of course you’re asleep. I love you. I found out—major destruction. There’s—there’s a falling star, headed for Chandani, and I—nobody is here, it was supposed to be our  night off, it’s just—it’s just me. I don’t have time—I can’t wait for the others, but I left them a message too. I—we thought we might be able to use fatecraft to rewrite the stars, but—”

By this point, Viktor is sitting up in bed, his eyes wide and his heart pounding.

“If it hits, everyone in the city will probably die,” Yuuri says. “You— _you_ would die. I can’t. I can’t let that happen, I just—this spell, it might. It might kill me. I don’t know. Nobody’s ever done this before. But I have to try. I love you, I love you so much, I don’t have time to explain how much I love you, I’m so sorry but I hope this works, I hope I can save you, please—please tell everyone at home I love them, too, and—yeah. I love you. Bye.”

He missed the call.

Yuuri tried to call him to say goodbye, and he slept through it.

“No,” Viktor gasps, scrambling to get out of his bed, the sheets tangling around his legs and nearly sending him sprawling as he flees to throw clothes on and run to the observatory. “No, no, no—”

Outside, there is a bright, bright flash of light.


	6. dwarf stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some mild discussion of injuries!

_“I look to the stars, and I find warmth and guidance. I look to you, and I find life and love. Stay by my side, my dear, and I think—no, I know. I know we can be happy.”_

.

.

.

Yuuri remembers the stars.

.

.

.

_—bright bright bright danger bright—too much too much—too close too close too bright too hot—pain, pain, pain—no more—he’s weak he’s weak he’s weak—torn apart—the light—_

.

.

.

He remembers the darkness.

.

.

.

_(blessed, sweet darkness, relief from the pain, let him rest, please…)_

.

.

.

He remembers…

He remembers a haze.

.

.

.

“Yuuri?”

That voice…

Arms, gathering him from the observatory floor. Blessed, sweet darkness. “Oh, god, Yuuri, wake up, no, oh, no no no no, look at me, look at me, darling, _please._ ”

Tears—not his own—dripping against his skin. Those same arms cradling him close, a heartbeat near his ear, soothing him down into blissful relief from the pain, from the pain of the magic that ripped through his body and tore him apart. A kiss pressed to his forehead.

The feeling of _home._

_I’m safe now,_ he remembers thinking, before he lost consciousness. _Safe…_

.

.

.

A new voice. “He saved all of our lives.”

Half-recalled memories make him feel like he should be alert, like he should snap to attention and listen. This is an authority figure, even though his voice is hushed and awed. Quiet. Sad. C… Ciao-Ciao, Yuuri thinks, too exhausted to open his eyes, let alone listen. Ciao-Ciao is here.

Someone is crying, and he realizes it must be Phichit, because Phichit is his friend, and he knows Phichit’s voice. “Can’t we do anything?”

“The healers are doing what they can,” Ciao-Ciao says. “I have hope. If he survived the initial backlash, he should recover.”

“He has to.” This is the first voice. The home-voice. Vitya. _Vitya._ He sounds hollow, empty, broken. Someone needs—someone needs to hold him. “He has to.”

Yuuri aches to open his eyes, aches to get his sluggish mind to cooperate long enough to think a coherent thought or do _something,_ but he’s just so tired, and everything hurts. The darkness, blissful and sweet as it is, offers to claim him again, and exhausted, he lets it.

.

.

.

“Viktor… he’ll be okay.”

_I’m here… Vitya… I’m fine. Listen to Chris. Don’t worry about me._

“I know. I know.”

“Then why are you still crying?”

.

.

.

He sleeps.

.

.

.

Sunlight filters in through a window, hitting the opposite wall with soft, pale light. Yuuri blinks at it, squints a little because it’s blurry, and realizes his glasses are nowhere to be seen. That’s annoying. Where is he, anyway? This isn’t his bedroom, or Viktor’s.

He _is_ in a bed, at least, which is good. He’s very tired. And everything hurts. Maybe he can just go back to sleep and figure out where he is later. Ow.

He turns his head to the side, blinking some more, and notices for the first time a figure slumped in a chair, right by his bed, asleep. It only takes him a moment to recognize him—he’d know those broad shoulders and that pale, starlight hair anywhere—and he lets out a shaky breath, reaching out with a weak, trembling hand.

“Vi—”

His voice is dry, his throat parched. He coughs and tries again.

“Vitya?”

Viktor doesn’t stir. Why is he in that uncomfortable-looking chair instead of in bed, holding him? He wants to be held. He hurts all over, and—

For the first time, he catches sight of his own arm, and an involuntary gasp escapes him.

It’s covered in bruises.

Bruises and burns and mottled scars, running up and down its length. It’s his right arm, the one he used to channel most of the spell’s energy, and it’s… oh, god, he… what did he _do?_

… At the very least, he saved Vitya.

That’s good enough. He sinks back down into the pillow behind him, exhausted by even this little movement, and closes his eyes again, satisfied that Viktor is here and safe and alive, and that means that his spell worked. He can sleep easily now.

The next time he wakes, Viktor is gone. Yuuri blinks at the empty chair, frowns at the sunlight (paler, dimmer, coming in at a different angle), and lets out a sigh. He’s hungry and still so, so tired, and he wants Vitya. Where is he? Is this…

Looking around at the pale room and its stark walls, and then at the equipment around his bedside, he realizes he must be in the hospital. After the spell he cast, that makes sense—it contained so much energy that he half-expected it to completely destroy his body. Channeling it through the two moons before sending it skyward helped, perhaps, but he’s still a disaster, hurting all over.

He whines into the empty room. He wants to go _home._

The door opens, then, and Yuuri almost bursts into tears of relief—Viktor slips into the room, looking exhausted as he trudges forward and plops into the bedside chair, reaching for Yuuri’s hand. “Hi, darling,” he murmurs. “Sorry I had to leave, but work, you know. Duty calls.”

“S’okay,” Yuuri mumbles.

Viktor jerks as if slapped, jumping back to his feet and leaning down with wide, wide eyes. “Yuuri! You’re—you’re awake?”

Yuuri does his best to smile, blinking hazily up at him. “Hi.”

Viktor lights up like a switch has been flipped, suddenly glowing as bright as the sunbeams in the window. “Oh, _Yuuri,_ ” he breathes, tears welling up in his eyes, and then he leans down and gives him the softest, sweetest kiss. “Oh, darling, oh my god, Yuuri…”

Yuuri makes a plaintive little sound. “Hold me?”

Viktor hesitates. “I don’t—I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”

“Already hurt,” Yuuri grumbles. “Wanna… hold.”

Viktor wavers, biting his lip anxiously, and isn’t that a habit he picked up from Yuuri ages ago? “I wanna hold you too, but you’re so badly hurt, dear, I…”

Yuuri sighs very sadly. “Okay.”

“Here,” Viktor suggests, pulling his chair closer. He slides his fingers into Yuuri’s hair and very gently starts caressing his scalp, his touch soothing and gentle. “Here. How’s this?”

“Good,” Yuuri murmurs, closing his eyes again. “Love you. Tired.”

“I love you too, dear heart,” Viktor murmurs, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I love you so, so much. Rest. Rest, okay? I’ll be here. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri sighs, and lets himself drift.

He wakes up again to Viktor’s hand still pleasantly stroking his hair and takes a few moments to lie there, eyes closed, and concentrate on the sensation. Viktor is so tender and caring and good to him, and suddenly he feels his chest tighten, tears crawling up his throat. He wants to crawl out of this bed and into Viktor’s lap and be held and comforted and, and, and why is he so _sad—_

“Yuuri?”

“Vitya,” he croaks, opening his eyes, and then he realizes Viktor isn’t the only one there. Phichit is there, and so is Chris, and Sara, too, and why is everyone here? What… what’s going on? “I…”

“Shh,” Viktor croons, touching his cheek. “Don’t strain yourself. It’s alright.” He’s glowing, silvery-white light shining from his fingers as Yuuri leans his face into his palm, closing his eyes again. It reminds him of the stars, but not the pain. Vitya doesn’t burn him, Vitya heals him, just by being there.

“Yuuri, oh my god,” Phichit sniffles, sitting on the other side of the bed. “I—thank god you’re alive, I was so _scared,_ you did so amazing, I just…” He shakes his head and takes Yuuri’s hand and squeezes it gently. “I’m happy you’re awake.”

Yuuri squints at all four of them. “Was I… did I sleep a lot?”

They exchange surprised looks, and then Chris bursts into laughter.

“Yuuri, darling,” he drawls, “you were out for an entire _month._ ”

“What?!”

Yuuri tries to sit up, but it still hurts and his entire body screams when he tries to move so fast, and he cries out, falling back against the pillows. He’s vaguely aware of Sara chastising Chris for dropping such a bombshell on him with no warning, but all he really notices is _pain pain pain pain,_ jolting through his body and racing through his limbs until his vision goes white.

When it clears, Viktor is hovering above him, wiping the tears from his cheeks with a soft tissue. “Shh, shh, shh,” he whispers, thumbing them away, while Phichit strokes his hand. “Shh, my Yuuri, it’s alright, it’s alright; just take it easy, dear heart.”

Yuuri sucks in a shuddering breath. “I…”

“Sorry,” Chris says sheepishly. “I didn’t think.”

Yuuri shakes his head weakly. He’s so tired. “S’fine. A—a month?”

“Yeah,” Phichit says, giving him a wavery smile. “You saved the entire city and then took a nap for a month. Typical Yuuri, sleeping through everything.”

“The—the star?”

“Outside the city by a good bit,” Phichit answers, patting the back of his hand. “It hit really hard, there was a big scare, but nobody was hurt. There was just some property damage. You did it, Yuuri. You rewrote major destruction into minor.”

Yuuri blinks a few times, some of the tension he wasn’t aware of holding in his body dissolving. “Oh. Oh, good.”

“Sleep, my darling,” Viktor suggests, starting to caress his hair again. Yuuri blinks back tears some more, turning to look at him plaintively. “You need to rest so your body can recover.”

Yuuri blinks up at him. “Kiss me?”

Viktor laughs and leans down. “Gladly,” he murmurs, cupping his cheek and kissing him slowly and sweetly. “I love you.”

“Oh,” Yuuri sighs, leaning into his palm. “I love you, too.”

“We should go,” Sara says, then smiles softly at Yuuri. “I’m really glad to see you’re awake. We’ll go and you can get some rest, but we can drop in later if you get lonely or bored, okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri sighs. “Bye…”

Viktor kisses him again as Chris and Sara leave, and Phichit squeezes his hand. They stay with him until he falls asleep again, and he lets himself go back into the darkness, at peace now that he knows everything is going to be okay.

He wakes up again, briefly, as the healers are working spells into his broken, battered body, easing away the pain with soft, cool magic. It feels so good that he falls asleep again almost immediately.

Viktor is there, the next time he wakes properly, and this time though his limbs are still leaden, they don’t scream when he moves, and Viktor sits down next to him on the bed and lets him roll over to place his head in his lap and rest. Yuuri takes his hand and just holds it.

“I missed you,” Viktor murmurs, helping him sit up, slow and careful. “I missed you so much, darling.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri mumbles back, leaning back against his chest. Just this much movement has him dizzy from exhaustion, slumping into Viktor’s waiting arms, but after a few seconds the dizziness starts to fade, and Viktor’s arm around his shoulders keeps him steady.

“Here,” Viktor murmurs, holding a spoonful of soup broth to his lips. “Take it slow. That’s it, there you go…”

It’s like the time Viktor came down with an awful fever, three or four years ago, after spending a winter day out at the beach, playing in the rain. Yuuri took care of him, spoonfed him in bed and helped him walk back and forth to and from the bathroom, and held his hand until he fell asleep. Viktor is finally making it up to him, he thinks wryly, and a slight smile tugs at his lips.

Viktor slowly feeds him most of the bowl of soup, holds a cup of water to his lips steadily so he can drink, and wipes away the drops that dribble down his chin. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he might be embarrassed by his weakness, but as it is, he just turns his head into Viktor’s chest and sags against him with a deep sigh.

Viktor nuzzles his temple and kisses his forehead. “Good job,” he coos. “My sweet Yuuri. They tell me you can come home by the end of this week, if you want—you’ll be on bed rest, of course, but if you’d rather rest at home than here, that’s an option.”

“Please,” Yuuri says immediately, because if he has to spend his days sleeping and waking and doing little else, he’d like to do it in a bed that smells like home, big enough for Viktor to sleep and wake with him.

“Alright.” Viktor kisses his forehead again, hugging him gently. “I’ll let them know when I leave tonight.”

Yuuri whines. “Do you have to go?”

Viktor chuckles drily and strokes his hair back from his face, and Yuuri can feel his lips curve into a smile against his skin. “I asked the same thing earlier. Unfortunately, they decided I’ve used up my quota of nights spent in that chair. But I’ll be back as soon as work is done tomorrow, darling, and in the meantime, Chris or Phichit will drop in. You won’t be alone.”

Still not fully placated, Yuuri wraps a plaintive arm around him and hugs him a little closer. “Want you to stay.”

“I’d stay if I could,” Viktor promises, kissing his nose. “Don’t worry, though. Just a few days more and I’ll bring you home, sweetheart.”

Yuuri traces his finger lightly over the fabric of Viktor’s shirt, drawing tiny circles near his hip. His body seems to know he hasn’t been held in a month even if his mind doesn’t, and he aches for this touch, for this closeness and intimacy and comfort. Surely Viktor needs it, too. “What did you do? While I was sleeping?”

Viktor blows out a breath. “What did I do… hmmm. I kept working at the café, I called home and told them everything—Mari came down to visit last week, but you slept right through it. Your parents would’ve come, too, but they have the inn to manage. I called them the night you first woke up, though. They know you’re gonna be just fine.”

“Oh,” Yuuri sighs breathily. “Tell Mari I’m sorry I didn’t say hello…”

Viktor laughs. “I won’t say _sorry_ for you, because I think you’d rather not get her to come back down just to smack you, but I will tell her you’re thinking of her.”

Yuuri smiles, weak but fond, against his collarbone. “Mm. What else? Did you write back to your grandfather?”

Viktor glows a little brighter. “Oh, Yuuri—yes, yes, and it’s been _wonderful_ —Yura wants to visit,” he says, bubbling with happiness. “I told him I’d love that, but after you’re feeling a little better. He’s so curious—he really wants to meet you. Dedushka, too, but he’s not so cut out for travel, these days, so maybe later you and I could visit the Vale, and…”

“I love you,” Yuuri mumbles, closing his eyes and pressing a tired kiss to his neck. “And ‘m really happy for you. Glad this is working out.”

Viktor melts, nuzzling his cheek and kissing him softly. “I love you, too, darling. Sweet, sweet Yuuri. Are you tired? We can talk more later.”

“A little,” Yuuri admits, “but I don’t want you to go. Just… tell me how things have been?”

Viktor smiles at that, beautiful and fond and luminous with silver light. “Of course,” he croons, giving him another tender kiss. “You know, I went shopping with Phichit and Chris the other day…”

Yuuri eventually drifts off to sleep in his arms, smiling as he tells story after story.

* * *

The day Yuuri gets to come home, Viktor sweeps him up into a princess-carry and bears him up the stairs, ignoring every single one of the protests that he can walk on his own. Yuuri clutches at him and laughs the entire way, still complaining halfheartedly, and Viktor grins with self-satisfaction as he makes it up to the top of the landing and stands outside the door to their apartment.

“You can put me down, now,” Yuuri reminds him, arms wound about his neck, as Viktor hefts him against his chest and puffs out his cheeks in consternation. He’s glowing with utter delight, clearly relieved and happy that Yuuri is home, and it’s adorable.

“Scan your hand,” he says. “I can’t reach the scanner, you have to do it, Yuuri.”

“You can put me down!” Yuuri laughs, but he leans over and fumbles at the scanner patch on the wall, and Viktor almost overbalances, stumbling and nearly sending them both toppling down the stairs again. “Vitya!”

“No, I can’t! It’s a point of pride!” Viktor protests, righting himself and careening forward into the living room as soon as the door beep-boops its usual chime and slides open. He hurries all the way to his bedroom as Yuuri lets out a shriek that’s somewhere between laughter and fear of being dropped, finally falling to his knees with a _thump_ and depositing Yuuri on the bed. “There,” he says, clapping his hands. “Cargo safely delivered.”

Yuuri flops over onto his back, laughing, and throws an arm over his face. “You’re _ridiculous!”_

Viktor clambers onto the bed too, wrapping his arms around him and tugging him close, and nuzzles his nose. “But you love ridiculous.”

Yuuri loops an arm around his neck, still giggling, and nods. “You have a point.”

He kisses Viktor’s goofy smile, hand finding its way to cup Viktor’s jaw as he tips his head to deepen the kiss, and Viktor immediately pulls him closer, glowing a little more brightly. He’s inerringly gentle with his touches, knowing that Yuuri is still healing, and even if they can be silly and playful, he’s still careful not to hurt him. He tastes a little like strawberry cream, from the pastries they shared downstairs, and Yuuri adores him.

Breaking the kiss, Viktor smiles at him with impossible tenderness, leaning in to press their foreheads together. “How are you feeling?”

Yuuri hums softly, finds his hand, and intertwines their fingers. Viktor squeezes his hand immediately. “I’m okay. A little tired, definitely sore, but okay.”

“Wanna nap?” Viktor asks.

Yuuri wrinkles his nose. “Not tired enough to sleep yet. Maybe in a little while. I’m sick of sleeping.”

Viktor kisses him in playful reproach. “You know the healers said rest is the way to get your body to heal faster.”

“I _know,_ ” Yuuri sighs, “but it’s so _boring!”_

Viktor kisses him again, sweeter this time. “Hmm. Do you want to watch something in the meantime? I can whip up something for dinner and we can settle in with a movie, if you’d like.”

“Okay.” Yuuri slips his knee between Viktor’s legs, wanting to be closer to him, and Viktor smiles, bright and beautiful. “Can I help you cook?”

“You can keep me company while I cook,” Viktor offers, pecking the tip of his nose. “You can sit on the countertop and look pretty, which you’re excellent at.”

Yuuri looks at him skeptically. His left leg and right arm, which channeled the magic through his body, are covered in lightning-like scars left from the crackling energy that ripped through him, inching up from his shoulder to his neck and just a little onto his cheek. He’s never been particularly insecure about his appearance, not paying it much heed either way, but those were definitely a surprise when he looked in the mirror earlier. He doesn’t think he likes them.

Viktor, as if he can sense what he’s thinking, leans in and starts pressing feather-light, delicate kisses over his cheek, his jaw, and gently down his neck, stopping at his collar but smoothing his fingers over his shoulder. “Yuuri, dear heart.”

“…Yes?”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, pressing another soft kiss to the pulse in his neck. “Scars don’t change that. You got these saving my life. Phichit’s life. Chris, Sara, Sorcere Cialdini— _all_ of us. The entire city. What’s more beautiful than that?”

Another soft kiss, and another, and another, until he’s back to Yuuri’s lips and starts kissing him again there, and Yuuri closes his eyes and melts, pulling him a little closer. “Vitya…”

Viktor pauses between kisses, cradling him close. “Yes?”

Yuuri hesitates. _You’re sure you don’t think I’m ugly now?_ would be a stupid question, because of course not—Viktor isn’t that shallow. _Do you really think I’m beautiful?_ doesn’t quite get at what he means to ask, either, because there’s some kind of disconnect in his head between himself and the stars he rewrote, and…

He rewrote the stars.

The spell worked.

Everyone lived.

He hiccups and chokes on a sob.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, pulling him into a soft hug. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re okay. I love you.”

“I d-don’t know why I’m cr-crying,” Yuuri sniffles, clinging to him as another sob wrenches itself out of his throat. He almost _died._ He should have died, by all rights, even if he _did_ use the moons in an attempt at a clever gambit. He could have, should have died to save Vitya, and that’s only just now sinking in. He rewrote the stars. He rewrote the stars themselves, just to save Vitya, to save the people he loves, and… and… it could have (should have?) killed him.

“Cry it out, darling,” Viktor advises. “Just let it all out. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He rubs Yuuri’s back and holds him, caresses him, takes care of him, until the tears finally start to slow, what might be an eternity later. Yuuri cries and cries, not entirely knowing what he’s crying about or how to articulate it but feeling that deep, wrenching ache in the pit of his stomach all the same, curling wretchedly into Viktor’s arms and clinging to him with painful desperation. It _hurts._

“I’m here,” Viktor croons, again, stroking his back. “I’ve got you. It’s all okay now. I’m here.”

Yuuri starts to cry harder. “I—I love you—”

“I love you, too,” Viktor promises. Kisses his forehead. “Oh, darling. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He cries until he can’t cry anymore, and then Viktor holds him a little longer until he gently urges him to sit up, wraps his arm around his waist, and lets him lean heavily against him as they walk to the bathroom, where he blows his nose and washes his face before tottering back into Viktor’s arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers, hollow.

Viktor responds by hugging him close. “You’re welcome. Anytime, Yuuri, anytime. Do you want to lie down, or do you want to keep me company while I make food?”

“I’ll sit with you,” he answers, and Viktor nods. He seems to know that he needs comfort, though, because before they leave the bedroom, he sits him down on the bedside and pulls an oversized knit sweater over his head, then wraps a small blanket around his shoulders, hugging him over it.

“There you go,” he says, smiling. “My cozy Yuuri. So cute.”

Yuuri leans his head against his shoulder. He never wants him to let go. “Yeah.”

Viktor guides him to the kitchen, never once letting go until Yuuri is perched on a stool by the countertop, where Viktor kisses his forehead before stepping away to start chopping vegetables. He comes over often, kissing his hair or his forehead or his cheeks or his nose, and Yuuri slowly scoots his stool over until he can lean his head into Viktor’s side and quietly hold onto him.

That night, exhausted beyond measure, he curls into Viktor’s arms and lays his head against his chest, finally letting his heartbeat lull him down into a gentle sleep.

“You’ll be okay, Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, petting his hair in the quiet darkness.

In his embrace, cozy under the blankets in their little home, Yuuri finally feels safe enough to answer, “I know.”

* * *

They settle into something of a routine, in the days and weeks after he comes home. Yuuri sleeps most of the day away while Viktor works downstairs, though sometimes Phichit comes over to keep him company, and they play games together, or just sit and talk as the sun stretches toward its zenith.

“What was it like?” he finally gets the courage to ask, staring down at the violent scars zig-zagging across his forearm. “When… who found me?”

Phichit blows out a breath. “Viktor,” he answers. “Your message woke him up. He called me on his way to the observatory, and I called Ciao-Ciao.”

Yuuri licks his lips, nervous and yet horrifically curious. “What happened? I… mostly just remember the light.”

He remembers the terror racing through him in the moments leading up to casting the spell. He remembers seeing the starcharts, reading the omens, seeing that one speck of brightness and _knowing._ He remembers being so horrified he went straight into numb shock, not crying as he called Viktor to say he probably wouldn’t survive the night. He remembers the magic tearing him apart, remembers screaming as it burned and ripped through him, remembers aiming all the power channeled through his body to the moons, remembers…

Darkness.

“Oh, man,” Phichit says, folding his legs under himself. They’re sitting on the couch in the living room, gentle light streaming in through the windows, and Yuuri is wrapped in a comforter stolen from Viktor’s bed. His body seems to have forgotten how to make the energy required to generate heat, and he’s always cold these days. It might be because of all the fatigue from the healing spells. “It was… I’m not gonna lie, Yuuri, I could barely recognize you.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, a little awkward and a little numb. “That bad, huh?”

“Really bad.” Phichit shakes his head. “We weren’t sure if you were alive, Viktor was—there was. Some blood? Not a ton because, um, it… cauterized a lot of… but. Yeah. He wouldn’t let go of you and he was a mess, I was a mess, Ciao-Ciao is the only one who had the good sense to call the hospital… It was a bad night.”

Yuuri bites his lip, suddenly guilty. “I shouldn’t have asked,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Sorry. That can’t be pleasant to think about.”

Phichit scoots over and pulls him into a hug. “It was a bad night,” he repeats, as Yuuri sinks against him and closes his eyes, “but today’s a good day. You’re okay, you’re alive, we’re fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Yuuri smiles wanly, offering him half of the comforter. “Okay. I won’t.”

He heals, slowly but surely. They celebrate the little things—the day his weakened legs are finally strong enough again that he can make it up and down the stairs to the café on his own without collapsing from exhaustion, Viktor bakes him a cake and cheers excitedly as they call home. His mother cries from joy, and Mari promises she’ll visit again, soon.

One evening, he limps his way into Viktor’s bedroom to find him sitting at his desk, studiously writing, and wanders over to stand behind his chair. “What are you working on?”

Viktor scoots his chair back and pulls him down into his lap, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as he wraps an arm around his waist. “A letter,” he says, resting his chin on his shoulder. “To Yura. He and I have been talking more recently—he called, actually, this afternoon while you were napping—but I still like to write, too.”

“I’m glad you guys are getting along now,” Yuuri observes, his hand scrunching into Viktor’s hair as it always does when they sit like this. Viktor closes his eyes, smiling, and hums with contentment. “You said he wants to visit sometime, right?”

“Yes.” Viktor adds a few words to his letter, then nuzzles Yuuri’s neck. “I told him when you’re feeling better, we can look into that.”

“He can visit tomorrow, if he wants,” Yuuri laughs. “I’m not that delicate. I’ll just be boring and sleep a lot.”

Viktor blinks, surprised. “You’re alright with that? With him staying with us while you’re still recovering?”

Yuuri deflates a bit, shoulders slumping, and Viktor looks at him, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. “ _Am_ I that delicate?” he asks, voice quiet, and looks at the floor. “I know I’m a mess, but…”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Viktor sighs, dropping the pen and hugging him tight. “No, sweetheart, not at all. If you want me to tell him to come over sooner, I will. I don’t think you’re too delicate—I just thought you would appreciate less excitement so you could rest more.”

“Resting all the time is boring,” Yuuri mumbles, tucking his face into Viktor’s hair. He knows he needs the rest, knows he still gets winded and tired from making the trip from bed to the kitchen and back, but he feels so _useless._ When the long-term healing spells finally finish, he’ll have more energy, but in the meantime, he’s stuck being a pathetic lump around the house. There’s only so many times he can reread his starwriting textbooks.

“I’m sorry I can’t spend more time with you,” Viktor says, frowning. “I could close the café for a week, maybe, and…”

“I’m sorry you have to be stuck with a useless, needy blob,” Yuuri mutters. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t even have to stick around with me all the time, I know it has to be a drag and you can’t go out and do anything fun for yourself, and—”

“Excuse me,” Viktor cuts in, rather indignant. “I love my blob, thank you very much. And if he would stick on me for the rest of my life, I would be delighted.”

Yuuri blinks.

“That almost sounds like you’re proposing,” he finally says, the self-doubt and negativity giving way as a giggle bubbles up in his chest. Instead of laughing with him, however, Viktor looks even more resolute.

“You know what?” he asks, fumbling at one of his desk drawers. He pulls out a little black box, and Yuuri freezes in his lap, eyes going wide, as he opens it and offers a ring, plain and golden and beautiful. “You know what, my lovely blob? I was planning on something more romantic, but you know what? Maybe I am!”

There’s a heartbeat of silence. Yuuri stares.

_“Vitya,”_ he breathes.

“I know it’s a little soon,” Viktor says with an easy smile and a fluid shrug, “but I figure that even if we’ve only been officially dating for seven months, I’ve known it’s always been you for ages. Marry me, Yuuri?”

Chest tightening, Yuuri nods. “Yes,” he whispers, “I—yes, oh my god,” and he kisses him, and Viktor kisses back, and his delight is so bright that it could outshine the sun, the stars, and all the magic in the universe itself.

.

.

.

_Fini._

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.

.

(They pick Yura— _Yuri,_ actually—up from the train station one week later. He looks like Viktor, though his light is more golden than silvery, and he takes one look at the both of them and rolls his eyes.

“Hi, dipshit,” he says, hugging Viktor, and then turns to Yuuri, who is stunned when he gets a hug, too. “Hi, Katsudon.”

“Katsudon?” Yuuri repeats, confused.

“Because _I’m_ Yuri,” Yura answers, “and you said it’s your favorite. Anyway, where’s the coffee? I’m fucking dead. You better make a good espresso, Vitya.”

“Of course I do,” Viktor sniffs, trying to sound offended but clearly glowing all the same. “My fiancé loves me for it.”

“Oh, boy,” Yura sighs.

“I do,” Yuuri agrees, and when Viktor winks, he laughs. Life is good.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading!!! This was a fun lil story to write ♥ thank you for coming on this little adventure with me!

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for YOI Space Week 2018 and will be updated daily to match each prompt!


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